In the Garden of Ash
by WhiteDragonWarrior
Summary: SI OC. A woman of our world wakes off the shores of Westeros. Years too early and wary of bringing ripples to the timeline. As she comes to live and learn about the world around her, she must find a balance between fears for the future and peace with the people she has grown to love if she has any hope of surviving this tumultuous continent.
1. Arc 1, Chapter 1: Alive

Author's note: Welcome to my new story! Trying out a different style of our world-OC fanfiction. Also, would have added more characters on the line up, but unfortunately they aren't on the list. Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones. They belong to their rightful owners. Any characters you see here that are not from those stories are my own.

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Update: I've decided to divide the story into arcs to make it easier to manage plots and timelines.

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Arc One: The Adjustment Period

Chapter One: Alive

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As Jasmine Switzer's mind slowly swam into consciousness there were two thoughts that managed to make their way to the surface. The first was simply "I'm alive". It was less a realization of joy and more of a bland notion akin to the "I think therefore I am" philosophy. The second was a painful notice that the world was spinning and turning without end and a pounding headache that made her want to split her skull open. Unfortunately, she didn't have the energy to even groan much less get up and call someone for an aspirin.

Closing her eyes again, Jasmine tried to concentrate on her breathing and slow down the spinning in her skull.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in. _Okay..._

Breathe out.

 _So… I'm alive. That's good. That's progress._

 _Wait._ Her face scrunched in concentration. _Why did I think I was dead? Was it all a dream?_

Feeling braver in her faculties, she opened up her eyes to take in her surroundings. Brushing away black curls of hair as she let her eyes adjust to the light. She was in a bed, which is always a good sign. Covers, pillow, and a mattress, check. A little too thin and lumpy for her tastes, but that was an aside at this point. The room itself was dark, cramped, creaky and brown from wood. That… Jasmine wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign. The cruise ship she was on didn't have any rooms like that. At least, none that she could recall. And why would the cruise ship be rocking so much?

A thought niggled in the head, and she tried to focus on it. Something happened. There was wind. And rain. She remembered now. A hurricane had come up, almost unexpectedly. She, her cousin Sandra, and Sandra's friends had strapped themselves into their cabin for safety. But something hit the ship and tore through to their room. And one of the straps of her backpack broke off and she was ripped away from the bed post she had tied herself to-

"Shit!" She bolted up from the bed, only to have it slam into a low ceiling and fall back on what she now realized was a bunk bed. "Ow! Fuck!" She growled. Rubbing her forehead profusely at the pain the hit caused. Which had the extra burden of making her headache feel six times worse. _Lovely._

The sound of quick steps echo added to the creaking wood as someone came forward and opened the door to the cabin. Peeking through her right eyelid she glanced at the new figure. Tall, lean, dark skin, a shaved head, a rather decorative braided beard on his chin, and even more decorative clothing that burst with a rainbow of colours. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. Perhaps this was a local ship here in the Caribbean?

The man gave a bemused smirk and began speaking to her in another language.

"What?" She asked. He had definitely asked her a question, but it didn't sound like Patwa or anything else recognizable. Then again, outside of Sandra's maternal side of the family, she didn't know much about people from the Islands.

"Ah, many pardons." The man smiled, switching to the familiar language. "You are from the continent, yes? I am Boru Xhoan, first mate of the _Soaring Wing_."

"Jasmine Switzer." She offered to him. "I don't suppose you have some aspirin on you?"

"Aspirin?" He looked puzzled. "I do not know what this is."

Crud. Well, maybe he's from a small region? "That's alright. Do you have anything to clear a headache?"

"Xanda can bring some tea for you when she comes to change the bandages."

"Bandages?" Lifting the covers, she found a red stained bandage wrapped around at the hip. She poked at it and grimaced at the pain. _Yep. Definitely a gash._ How she didn't notice that before was beyond her. "Ah." She sighed through the pain and brought the sheet back down. "I would appreciate that. Thank you."

"You are welcome, Jasmine Switzer." He brought a small chair to the bedside and sat down. "If I may ask, how it is you came lost in the sea? The Captain will wish to know."

"Oh. Well there was storm. It damaged the part of the ship I was in and I got swept away." She frowned, thinking on the events of the night before. "Did you find anyone else? My cousin and her friends were in the cabin with me, but…" Did they also get dragged in? Or did their knots keep them safe on the cruiseliner?

"I am afraid that you are the only one we found." He gave a reassuring pat on my arm. "There was not much to find. There was only your body on the wood that cut into you, some pieces of the ship, and that sack you were carrying." His head gestured to a large grey backpack/carry-on suitcase leaning on the other side of the little room.

Well, at least that survived. Hopefully the others were fine too.

"That was a grand storm last night. One of our sails had been damaged. But all else was secure." He saw her distracted gaze and gave her a nod. "I am sure your family is secure as well." She gave him a nod of thanks and, with a bid to get rest, he left her to her thoughts.

* * *

If there's one thing to be thankful for in life, it's being in the company of good people when life has gone to shit.

Over the next two days, Jasmine remained bedridden due to her injuries, but in that time had made friends with some crew members aboard the _Soaring Wing_. Xanda Mo, the Captain's wife, would spend a couple hours a day nursing her back to health. Boru's younger brother, Maro, and some of the younger shipmates would come in to play games or ask her about her life. There were some barriers with each other's' languages and accents (especially since Talano, Xanda, and Jhalu didn't know English at all), but they still made the best of it and had an enjoyable time together.

When her injuries were mostly healed (and she started getting a little stir-crazy), she was assigned to help out with light work in the kitchen. Sort of an odd thought to get 'assigned' work when you aren't even a member of the crew, but considering they had literally saved her life, it seemed reasonable that she should help out in what little way she could.

It was also a good opportunity to get some fresh air and explore (well, hobble around) the ship. The one thing that surprised her the most was that the ship was actually very nice. As in clean, large, and built professionally, with a well kept body of golden wood, powerful white sails and a decorative carving of a conure as the figurehead. She had been under the impression that the crew was from a small island village or something along those lines. But to have a ship like this would imply a fair bit of wealth and resources that didn't fit that scenario. Mind you, she refused to bring that up. Didn't want to accidentally offend anyone with her preconceived mindset.

On the morning of day six aboard the _Soaring Wing_ , the ship came to port. The crew were in a flurry gathering supplies and chests of trade goods. Jasmine helped out with some of the smaller boxes, careful not to strain the healing gash, and then gathered her own things for departure.

 _Dried-out clothes? Check._

 _Wallet and passport? Check._

 _Smartphone? Ruined, but present._

 _Toiletries? Check._

 _Books, sketchpad, and pencil crayons? Dried out and crinkly as hell, but operational._

 _Alrighty, we are good to go!_

Only trouble with backpack/suitcase hybrids is that they're heavy and in no way a good mix with surface wounds. But… ya, not about ready to abandon what few possessions one has when lost at sea and away from home.

"I see you are leaving us!" Boru called out from the quarterdeck as Jasmine made her way towards the ship's entrance.

"Ya. It's about time a get myself home." She answered.

Boru made his way down the steps towards her. "That is good. It will be much easier now you are in your kingdom." Well, technically Jasmine was Canadian, and neither the US or Canada were kingdoms (well, there _is_ Queen Elizabeth II's family; but, that hardly counts, all things considered), but she didn't bother to correct him.

She smiled and shook his hand. "Right. And thank you so much for everything. I would be dead if it wasn't for you. And please let Xanda, Maro, and everyone else on the ship know how much I appreciated their help."

"That I will." He grinned. "Farewell, Switzer. May the gods be with you!"

"And with you, Boru. Good bye!" She waved as she made her way down the plank, saying more goodbyes to nearby crew on her way down.


	2. Chapter 2: Deny, Deny, Deny

Author's note: I am surprised and flattered at how many people have read and favourited/followed this story so far. Thank you all so much!

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones. They belong to their rightful owners. Any characters you see here that are not from those stories are my own.

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Chapter Two: Deny, Deny, Deny

The first alarm bell of confusion was over the lack of modern day equipment at the port. No motor boats, or metal cargo crates, or anything remotely 21st century. The second was how people on the docks were dressed. A lot of thin, ragged clothing and leather. And not even in the fun, kinky way. But all browns and tans with some smatterings of colour. And then she walked further inland, and felt like she had fallen out a rift in the time-space continuum. There were people dressed up in chainmail and wearing swords, or silk dresses, or peasant costumes. And _everybody_ was speaking with an English accent. Chickens were strutting around like they owned the place. Merchant stalls were set up all around with wares of carvings, jewelry, smiths, puppet shows, vegetables, and roasted meats.

 _Hello 'Medieval Times'!_

There were two trains of thought that managed to run and overlap each other as she made her way through the street.

 _Thought One: I've traveled through space and time into medieval Europe._

 _Thought Two: I've found my way into a Renaissance fair._

 _Thought One likelihood: Impossible._

 _Thought Two likelihood: Highly improbable, but the only reasonable explanation._

A strange way to look at things. But it _was_ a strange place to begin with. So she needed to understand what was going on if she was to get back home quickly. It was time to break things down into manageable parts.

Observation #1: Not a single person was wearing modern clothes. (Which made Jasmine self-conscious over wearing cargo shorts, a light but decorative tank top, and a pair of sneakers. It also didn't help that everyone was staring disdainfully or outright gawking at her outfit).

Now this _could_ be attributed to elaborate, hard-core cosplaying. But there was also no sign of staff or security. Which, in her experience _being_ a security worker at conventions, was something that's most definitely not safe and/or suspicious. So the results were… inconclusive. Yes, let's go with inconclusive. No need to jump straight to insanity in your first hour on land, right? Better off just asking for help.

.

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Observation #2: not a single person could point her in the direction of a police station or offer a cell phone for her to use. They also didn't seem familiar with either term.

Okay. That was terrifying. Either people were being completely pretentious in their LARPing (possibility: unlikely for Thought Two), or they seriously didn't know what those words were (possibility: completely reasonable for Thought One).

And suddenly the 'likelihood' placements of each thought started to slip.

 _Okay. Don't panic. There must be a reasonable explanation for this place being the way it is._

 _Right?_

After about an hour searching the place, she decided to find a place to eat, rest her feet, and think of a plan of action to tackle… whatever this was. Jasmine spotted a stall and made her way over. The food was… weird. That is, there was normal food, but it was too... authentic, for lack of a better term. The fruit was somewhat misshapen and the roasted chickens still had their heads attached. Ya, kinda gross. Much as she liked meat, Jasmine was more into the 'process out the fat, bones, and cartilage' type of cuisine.

"Can I have three peaches, please?" She asked the woman in the stall. They looked the best of the bunch.

"Ay. That'll be a copper for that." The woman replied.

"A what?" Great, now she has to translate medieval talk. "Um… how much is that in dollars?"

The woman gave her a raised brow. "Don't know what that is, girl."

 _Welcome to Observation #3._

Otherwise known as: where the panic starts to seep in.

"I really don't have time for this." Jasmine complained under a shaky breath. "Look, I got American and Canadian cash, that's it. Not really in the mood to find a concession stand for carnival currency. So how about you cut me a break, eh?"

The women wasn't impressed with that snap. "Well, 'fraid we don't take _cash_ or _dollas_ here, girl. So either pay the copper or be off with you!"

This was bad. Jasmine could feel herself bordering on the edge of a full blown panic attack. She was about to step away and find a corner to hide in for a while, but then another voice interrupted.

"Is everything alright here?"

She turned to the voice next to her. It was an amiable looking man in his mid-twenties. He had shoulder length dirty blond hair, hazel eyes, stubble around his jaw, and was dressed in a fancy grey outfit with orange accents. Next to him was a younger man of similar features, only clean shaven with light brown hair and a slighter build.

It had occurred to her in that moment that she was probably making a scene with the woman at the food stand, hence this person feeling like he needed to step in. So she swallowed as much of her nerves as she could and tried to smooth over the situation.

"Yes, sorry. It's just that I don't have the right type of currency, I guess. I only arrived to this land today." Yes, that might work. Establishing the fact that she was new to this place might help dissolve the situation or get some assistance.

"I see." The man seemed to consider her for a moment, likely noting the strange clothes and her accent, and turned to the merchant. "Make that three peaches and two chickens. This should suffice." He pulled out a few coins and flashed the merchant a smile

The merchant didn't seem swayed by the charm, but was content with making a sale. The blonde man flung one peach at the younger man, who shook his head and gave him an exasperated look for the 'food rescue', and passed the third peach to Jasmine.

"Um, thank you." she mumbled. "But you didn't have to do that."

"Seemed necessary from our perspective." He grinned.

She smiled back. Feeling the clutch of panic subside and parts of it fade away. That was one victory, at least. "Right. Well I appreciate it, regardless."

"It was my pleasure. I am Ser Anders of House Marbrand. And this is my brother, Daven."

The brother nodded to her with a "Good day to you." at his lips.

She nodded in return. "Jasmine Switzer. Nice to meet you."

By then the woman in the stall had two roast chickens ready and wrapped for them. "Would you care to join us, my dear?" Anders asked her.

Well, he did just pay for the meal. That, and it meant having two people that could help her figure out where/when she was.

"I'd be glad to." She responded, and followed them through to a plaza to find a place to sit.

.

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"Forgive me for my saying so, but are you ill?"

Jasmine wasn't sure what to make of Daven Marbrand. There was a part of him that seemed like a genuinely nice person, but then there was the more obviously miserable part that seemed to have little trouble in being blunt in exposing other people's unhappiness. In this particular case, it was in how much Jasmine was feeling weighed down and bordering on a freak out as she observed the [obviously medieval] people around her. And was promptly reviewing everything from her life in the last seven days from the cruise to the _Soaring Wing_ to this medieval carnival of dread to figure out where and how things had gone so wrong so quickly.

"I'm just trying to understand how it is I ended up here." She answered simply as she observed two half-naked boys playfully chasing after a dog.

"You mean you arrived here on accident?" Anders asked.

Jasmine nodded. "The ship I was in got caught up in a hurricane. I fell overboard but was found and taken in by another one." Thinking on that, it would explain why she wasn't familiar with anything said by Maro or the rest of the crew about where they were from. She had assumed they were either from a small island or it was just unfamiliar due to lack of geography knowledge. But it seems that it was because that weren't from the Caribbean at all. They must have been a trade ship from some long forgotten African nation.

"It's incredible that you survived." Anders proclaimed.

"I suppose. But now the trouble is figuring out a way to go home." Jasmine sighed and put her head between her hands.

Go home. From across space and time. THAT should be easy enough.

"And where is home for you?" Daven asked.

"Toronto."

Oh, wait. She shouldn't have said that, should she? Europeans wouldn't stumble upon the Americans for another few hundred years. But what else was she suppose to say? Persia? She was half Persian, but could only speak a small handful of Farsi. She could pass off as Italian; but, once again, lack of language barriers made it harder to come up with a good lie. Frankly, she was surprised enough that she even _could_ understand the dialect and accent of the men beside her. That should have been impossible, all things considered. But she couldn't go with an English location either, she didn't know much at all about England's geography and would get caught in the lie almost instantly. Jasmine sighed again. Attempting to come up with good enough lies just felt like too big of a hassle at this point.

"Toronto? I can't say I've heard of that kingdom."

"Considering the amount of books you read, brother, I'm surprised." Anders, joked.

Daven gave a glare in response, but didn't give a retort back.

Jasmine honestly couldn't care either way. She waved one hand in a vague direction and mumbled out an answered. "Well if you ever decide to sail off west I'll be happy to show you around sometime."

The two brothers glanced at each other, then to her, then back again. Gauging if they each heard the same words, then looked to her with a bewildered expressions. "You live _West_ of the Sunset Sea?" Daven asked.

"Uh, yes?" She answered. Peeking an eye over her right hand. Since when did people call the Atlantic the Sunset Sea? Sure, it fits and all. But is that what it was really called back then?

"That's incredible!" Daven gasped. His callousness lost as he leaned in close. "What's it like?"

She gave a small smile. The kid was actually very adorable once he opened up. "Depends on where you're referring to, really."

Daven and Anders started firing off questions at her. Which she somehow managed to both oblige and tiptoe around major details. Talking about the New World could prove disastrous if she wasn't careful. Plus there was the fear that a superstitious bunch would brand her a witch and burn her at the stake or some other form of medieval torture. So things were downsized and altered to resemble a less modern era.

Fortunately their round of questioning died down quickly enough as interest moved to on to the bustle of people crowding out of the square.

"What's going on?" Jasmine asked.

"The midday tilts are ready to continue the tourney." Anders replied

"Tourney?" Well, can't have a medieval show without jousting, she supposed.

"Yes, I imagine it will be quite the showing. This morning Ser Cerwyn Payne had Ser Rupert dragged by his horse after five runs. And the Prince has been swatting champions down like flies."

"Well that's to be expected." Daven added. "This tourney _is_ in honor of his newly born brother, after all."

"Yes, yes," Anders waved him off. "Though I can't imagine how well our Lord of Lannister is taking to seeing his knights and kin knocked over like practice dolls."

 _Their Lord of WHAT!_

Everything seemed to stop at once as her mind fixed on that last sentence.

 _It… it couldn't b- There's no way!_

"Hold on a sec." Jasmine cut in.

"Hold on to what?"

"That's not- never mind." She sighed. " _Who_ were you just talking about right now?"

"Lord Tywin Lannister." Anders replied.

"He's our liege lord." Daven added.

Jasmine sucked in a breathe. The name Tywin Lannister rang a cathedral's worth of alarm bells in her mind. ' _Do not freak out. Do not freak out. This… this is a joke. Right?'_

"And he is the lord of… _where_ , exactly?"

"Of this land. The Westerlands. And Warden of the West among the Seven Kingdoms." The bookish brother responded. Jasmine sighed a shaky breathe and put her head in her hands. "Beg your pardon, Jasmine, but are you alright?"

"Westeros." She rasped, hands still shaking. "You're telling me, that we're in _Westeros_!"

"Yes. I thought you were aware of that?" Daven answered. "You _did_ acknowledge that you hail West of the Sunset Sea."

"Where else did you expect this to be?"

 _Gee, I dunno. Maybe a place that actually_ _exists_ _!_ Her mind was spinning, trying to wade through some semblance of logic or reason. It was one thing to have this place be a remnant in time. But _this_?

"I... please... Just-" She took a breathe. Trying desperately to calm herself. "Okay, look. I have had a _really_ messed up week." Her voice stressed lowly. "I have woken up on a ship after getting _thrown_ _overboard_ by a _hurricane_ , and managed to somehow _not_ get killed in the process. And now I'm in a place I'm not familiar with. With no phone, no cash, and no way to contact my family and let them know that I'm alive. So, I'm asking you, to _please_ not give me some bullshit answer, and tell me where _the fuck_ this actually is. So that I can get back home." She released a strained breath she didn't realize she had been holding. But it was taking every ounce of willpower to not break down completely and run for it.

The boys made no move to answer. They looked incredibly uncomfortable, glancing between her and each other, trying to figure out their next step.

"I… I do apologize, my lady." Anders began. "We had no desire to upset you. That being said," He glanced again at his brother, but it seemed he wasn't willing to finish the thought aloud. "we made no japes on the matter. This _is_ Westeros, truly."

Jasmine's shaking was far more obvious now. Her hands balled into fists, but her mind was too frozen to have a target to plant them in. There was only one thing _to_ do and this point.

 _Deny, deny, deny._

Keeping her eyes downward, she stood up and hoisted her pack onto her shoulders and began to walk away.

"Wait!" Anders shouted after her. "Where are you going?"

"To find some sanity in this god forsaken place and get myself home!" She cried out, not even bothering to look back at them as she trenched forth.


	3. Chapter 3: Welcome to Westeros

Author's note: This chapter ended up being trickier than expected. The first draft had to be torn apart and shuffled around due to changes in story direction. My initial intention was to my this an OC with only slight amounts of SI factors. But the result ended up being more Mary Sue wish fulfillment and didn't make much sense for this character. So I moved things around to go with a stronger SI approach as well as added another person's POV into the mix.

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones. They belong to their rightful owners. Any characters you see here that are not from those stories are my own.

* * *

Chapter Three: Welcome to Westeros

Jasmine stormed through the thinning crowds. Marching off in a direction she hoped would lead to the docks. Though truthfully her mind was far too distracted to pay attention to where, exactly, she was going.

 _Westeros? Fucking Westeros! If this is a joke, it isn't funny. If it's real… of course it's not real! What am I thinking?_

She walked through the stalls, fuming and shaking at each turn.

 _Okay, so maybe it's not_ real _real? What if I knocked my head during the storm and ended up in a coma? I could just be_ dreaming _about the series? Yes, that's it. I'll wake up, have a good laugh with Sandra and the others over this crazy dream, then forget this ever happened!_

 _...Except hitting my head on that bunk on the Soaring Wing had hurt like a bitch. Shit. It can't be a dream, in that case._

 _Oh god… what if I'm dead? I got pulled to sea, right? I would have drowned. Would that make this hell? Well, if this is a hell, I am definitely not impressed!_

"You lost, girl?"

It took a moment to register that the gravely voice was referring to her. In that time she was already a few steps closer to the man who called out. She looked up to find a man with dark brown hair, worn clothing, and a menacing look standing in her way.

She made a quick change in direction, hoping to pass the man. "No, I'm good, thanks." She mumbled quickly. The man stepped to the side and blocked her way again. She stopped for a breath, hoping to turn and go the other way. Before she could, however, she heard two more pairs of footsteps from behind, blocking the other way out.

 _Oh, shit._

She turned a quarter of the way so that she could see the three of them and, more importantly, a possible way out.

"Look, guys. I don't want any trouble. Just making my way home. So how about I keep on walking and we all forget this ever happened? What do you say?"

It wasn't much use. The alleyway was too small to provide much of an opening. Not to mention having a gash at her hip meant that quick maneuvering wasn't going to be an option. This wasn't looking good at all.

"Oh sure, love. We can do that." The blond one on the left drawled. "Just drop the sack there and we'll be on our way."

Okay. This was a robbery. She wasn't entirely sure if that made things better or equally terrifying. On one hand, she could leave the bag, which contained everything she owned from this point forward, and thereby be left with nothing. Or she could try to run, and be promptly beaten and/or raped and/or killed. That wasn't really much of an option, but being left with nothing was also a daunting thought. Still, better that than getting killed.

She slowly moved to unbuckle the sack, while keeping an eye on the men to make sure they didn't make any sudden moves. Fear was making the process difficult, as her hands kept fumbling and slipping off of the clasp that secured the straps across her waist. One of the men on the left started to get impatient, and trenched towards her while pulling out a knife from its leather sheath.

In that moment the world froze. There were no words in her mind. No judgements, no arguments, no theories. The world just became her, the knife, and the memory of another knife from a not too distant past. And with that memory, came it's instincts.

 _Danger!Death!RUN!_

Jasmine throat ripped out a blood-curdling scream as she bolted from the spot in the opposite direction. The brown haired man grabbed her before she could escape and pulled her down the ground. Still, she kept screaming. He tried to cover her mouth to keep her quiet, but she desperately fought against him. Wildly scratching at his face as her mind was blinded by fear and instinct. By then one of the other two men had caught up and pulled her wrists away from the first man. She strained against them, jerking and squirming and muffled screams. The third one approached and held the knife high.

And then a thought came with sudden clarity.

 _I won't be able to run this time._

There was such a distraught finality with that thought. No locked door to hide behind. No sister to shield her. There was nothing left but her and the blade.

"Stop, in the name of the King!" A voice cried out. Footsteps rushed towards them. The sound of steel echoed across the alleyway.

In a flash Jasmine felt her restraints vanish as the robbers scurried to escape the approaching men. She crumpled to the floor. With instincts running on overdrive she desperately fought to rise up and run; but, with the weight of her sack still on and pain coursing through her body, she stumbled and fell and pushed up again in failed attempts. Hands reached out and grabbed her, and Jasmine screamed as she tried to knock them away.

"It's alright." A voice at her ear tried to soothe.

With desperate eyes she turned to the person holding her. In front of her was a man in his thirties wearing chainmail, a plate of armor adorn with a lion crest and a bright red cloak. He had a hard face, one that seemed accustomed to the harshness of life, but was attempting to give a look of ease and calming for her sake. In all of the frantic panic, a part of Jasmine's mind registered the sight of him as 'police'.

She attempted to swallow the panic. But her body refused to stop shaking and hyperventilating. Regardless, she allowed him to help her onto her stumbling feet.

"Are you alright?" The man asked in a gentle but commanding voice.

Jasmine couldn't speak. Vocal cords constricted by hiccoughing tears and desperate breaths. All she could manage was a shaking of her head that, no, she was _not_ alright. Between the pain, shock, and fear, all she craved at this point was to be back in her room, curled inside her bed and pretend this had all been a very bad dream. It took too much strength to not curl up in that very spot. Instead, she clutched onto the man in the red cloak like a life support to keep her on her feet. But quickly she noticed that her hands kept slipping off from his armor. Peering through teary eyes, she looked to his arm to find her hands slick with blood. Startled, she stepped back and fell in a half-seated position. Her focus remained on her hands. Blood covered each finger in various degrees and had trickled downwards to the palms of her hands.

 _Why am I bleeding? What is this?_ She thought in horror. Then she looked down and found more cuts and scrapes down her arms and legs, and the wound on her hip was reopened somewhat and was staining her clothes red. Standing above, she barely registered voices speaking to one another. Instead, she continued to watch the blood drip downward.

Finally, the second wave of shock subsided, and Jasmine took more notice to the voices speaking. Looking up she noticed five men. Two were in red cloaks. Two others were the Marbrand brothers.

 _When did they…_

She hardly finished the thought as she noticed that the fifth was different from the rest. Realizing in stupefied shock that it was the brown-haired robber. He was kneeling with his hands bound behind his back. His face was covered in dirt and blood dripping down from deep, claw-like streaks. One eye was shut tight in an effort to keep out the blood. The other eye glared at her with pure malice. Blinking, she looked as the marks on his face, then turned down to her own hands. Then back again to his face. Flexing her fingers, she found little pain in them. A couple were somewhat sore from effort, but they were otherwise fine. This blood, it wasn't hers.

 _Did I… all of that?_

"Jasmine? Jasmine, look at me."

Blinking again, she turned her face to find Daven kneeling at her side. Speaking slowly, pointedly.

"You've been hurt. We will be taking you to a Maester to treat your wounds. Do you understand me?"

Jasmine stared a moment, allowing words to stew and turn into meaning. Hurt. _Bleeding._ Maester. _Doctor._ Wounds. _Healing_. Slowly she nodded. His shoulders relaxed and slowly, carefully, held out a hand to her. She accepted it and allowed him to help her to her feet. Her legs were still trembling with effort, but it found some solace when Daven strew one of her arms over his shoulder and used his body as a support crutch. Head feeling heavy, her eyes casted to the ground. Faintly registered another step of footsteps at her side as it seemed to force a mass of feet to part as they made their way through the lip of the alleyway.

.

.

Her mind barely registered anything from that point forward. Just the sight of dirt roads turning into paved stone turning into trampled grass. While on the grass more feet appeared and their bodies stopped for the boys to talk. She didn't pay much attention to words. Her mind was still on the knife. On the threat of death still swaying and creaking over her head like a branch waiting for a strong wind to break it.

And she would never escape it. Not entirely. Not so long as she remained _here_.

It was a cruel irony, really, when one considers it. Of all the fantastical tales she enjoyed, of all of the worlds she could have found herself in, she ended up Westeros.

Going to the Shire? _Sure._

Trip to Narnia? _Pretty cool._

A letter to Hogwarts? _Absolutely yes! Where is my owl? I'm heading to platform 9 ¾!_

But _nobody_ , not a single member of the A Song of Ice and Fire fandom, would ever willingly choose to live in Westeros (or any world of George R. R. Martin's, for that matter). Not unless they had a death wish.

One could imagine the sales pitch you could give for someone to come here.

 ** _Welcome to Westeros! The land of constant civil wars, religious zealots, long winters, murderers and rapists, political backstabs, and a looming threat of White Walkers on a frostbitten horizon. Sign up here to learn more about this death-laden adventure!_**

And yet, that appeared to be exactly what had happened. Whether by mystical Wizard of Oz-like forces, death, or a nightmarish coma, this had somehow become her new reality. ...Which meant that she'd have to find a way to survive here.

Jasmine breathed out a despairing sigh. This was going to be hell.

* * *

It probably should have bothered Harwin that he was missing the latter half of the day's jousting. Events like these were rare for him to attend since he began his studies at the Citadel some thirty odd years ago. He liked to people watch. To observe how they behaved. From how a crowd could be swayed together from one emotion to the next, to how participants in competitions would absorb that energy or react to the slightest hints their opponents gave in body posture or expression.

Sometimes he would make mock wagers with fellow spectators to immerse himself in the spirit of the games. Though a third of the time those wagers were done on (loudly expressed) false claims, just to see how gamblers would react to his supposed insight. Those experiments quickly became a great source of entertainment for him and others in their retinue. It would have been more fun now with the stakes increase for the final rounds at the tilts; but alas, conversation on some… interesting rumors regarding possible royal matches had led to his mind getting distracted on what such a union could mean for the future of the Westerlands. As such, once a break was announced, Harwin found himself returning to his tent to refine his historical knowledge on the matter. Unfortunately, that research had to be postponed, as visitors arrived at his tent when he was only partway into the first tome.

"Maester Harwin, we're in need of your help." A voice called. Lord Daven, by the sound of it. Harwin quirked a smile. The boy was a good lad and good company during evenings of leisure reading or discussion. He had a sharp mind and likely would have made a good maester had his father not betrothed him early in life. Though that was an opinion he kept to himself. Lord Marbrand was a man who prefered his children dutiful in honoring and continuing the family name, and held little love for wayward sons.

He closed his book and pushed himself from his seat to face him. "Certainly, my lord. How can I be-." He stopped himself once he saw the distressed look on young lords' faces. They were holding, no, supporting a young Dornish woman between them. The woman was in strange garments (and scantily clad, no less) and was cut and bleeding in several areas. Worse, still, was the way her body held limp and the dead expression on her eyes. He lips pursed in a hard line. He was going to have to work around that or find a way to break through it.

"Get her on the bed and explain what happened as much as you can." The maester commanded. The brothers nodded and guided the woman to his cot while Harwin gathered the necessary supplies from his trunk. Anders quickly explained how they had met the woman, Jasmine was her name, and that she appeared distraught and had left soon after. They decided to look for her, for reasons they didn't care to explain to him, and came upon a gathering crowd. There they found the girl shaking and weeping on the ground beside two Lannister guards. The guards explained that some ruffians had attacked her and nearly taken the girl's life just as they arrived to investigate the sound of someone screaming. After some exchanges, the young lords offered to bring her here while the guards dealt with one culprit they were able to apprehend.

Harwin kept those comments to mind as he pulled the woman's clothing away to inspect the bleeding. The largest of the wounds has ripped stitches, whatever the cause was it was unrelated but must have reopened due to a fall. The remaining physical marks were little more than cuts and bruises around the legs, wrists, and face. No stab wounds were present. There was also the addition of a pale complexion, shallow breathing, a reduced heart rate, mild shaking, and a lack of response to sounds and sights. It was troublesome, but certainly could have been worse.

"The cuts can be cleaned and stitched easily enough." He remarked. "As for the mind, the girl requires rest and a consistent environment for the trauma to subside. The effects should last no longer than a day or two."

From the corner of his eye he could see the young lords visibly relax at the news. Their concern was endearing, if overexaggerated. Though that's to be expected in times of peace. They were unblooded boys. Too young to remember the war of the Ninepenny Kings or the Reyne-Tarbeck Rebellion. Of senseless slaughter and the horrors of war. Instead, the most bloodshed they've scene has come from jousting accidents or tavern brawls. Nothing more than skirmishes that gave no harm to the innocent. This experience could be good for them. So long as they didn't take to habit bringing home every distressed damsel they came upon.

Harwin smirked at the thought in spite of himself. "Until then, there is little else to do, my lords. Perhaps you should return to the festivities?" He suggested. "I will remain and tend to the girl as needed."

Anders casted a conflicted frown, but a reassuring look from his brother appeared to convince him to agree. "Very well, Maester Harwin. We shall leave you to your work."

With that settled, the young lords left off for the tourney while Harwin set to his task. The most pressing matter was to stay the bleeding. Which would require boiling wine to cleanse the wounds and a needle to stitch them. That being said, the pain will likely cause a violent reaction from the girl if he wasn't careful. Milk of the poppy would prevent the pain; but, again, he has to ensure she drinks it.

Turning to his collection of vials, he grabbed a flask of salt of hartshorn and a vial of lavender oil. Taking a small bowl, he poured a spoonful of hartshorn into the bowl and three drops of lavender. Once they were mixed well, he knelt by the cot and held the bowl close for the girl to inhale. Within moments her breathing quickened and her eyes fluttered to life.

"Good morrow." He greeted her gently. The gentleness seemed to have little effect, as the girl was overcome with fear and tried to sit up to leave the bed. He quickly took hold of her to lay her down again."Easy, there. Easy. It's Jasmine, isn't it?" The girl seemed to register the sound of her own name and ceased to struggle. She looked him over, eyes eventually drawing focus to the chain around his neck.

"You're a maester?" Her voice strained. The question sounded rhetorical. Perhaps a way to ground herself in understanding to where she was?

"That's right." The confirmation, mixed with a reassuring smile, would likely help assuage the girl's fears. "You were brought here by Daven Marbrand and his brother, Anders. Do you recall that?"

She took some time to think on it. Face frowning in confusion. Hands twitching nervously as memories stirred. "They were… they were there. In the alley." She brought her eyes to meet his. "Why were they there?"

That seemed a peculiar question to ask. Though perhaps she didn't mean 'why' so much as 'how'? "They were worried about you. From what they told me, you appeared distressed when they last saw you."

"Oh." The girl's eye turned downcast as she thought on it longer. "Right. That makes sense… I guess." A few heartbeats passed in silence. "I…" She paused, reconsidering what she wanted to say. "I should probably thank them. And apologize. I was kind of being a bitch to them before I left."

Harwin raised an eyebrow at the casual use of vulgarity. Then again, the Dornish were not well known for their tact. Though it occurred to him at that moment that there was something peculiar with the way her voice sounded that did not appear to stem from dehydration. She spoke with an accent. Though not one he had ever heard before. She could be from an isolated village, or possibly has some form of speaking difficulty. But questions on that would have to wait.

"In due time, my dear. They will return later in the evening. Until then, you still have injuries that need attending." He gestured to the various cuts along her body. She followed his arms and stared at the blood slowly flowing from her hip.

"Oh, great, this thing again." She sighed.

Harwin chuckled lightly and poured another vial into a cup. "Here, drink this." The girl eyed the contents suspiciously.

"What is it?"

"Milk of the poppy." He answered. "To ease your pain."

She continued to eye to white concoction until a moment of recognition lit up in her eyes. "This stuff is… are you sure I can't take something a little less… potent?" She asked hesitantly.

"Not if you wish to avoid pain while I stitch your wounds."

She grimaced at the thought. Switching her attention between the blood and the cup. Eventually her shoulders sagged in defeat and she tipped the cup to allow its contents flow down her throat. Once it emptied she offered it back to Harwin, which he placed on the bedside table.

"I don't suppose I'll be awake much longer?"

"Not long, no. It affects the body quickly."

The girl nodded and rested back onto the bed. "So I've heard." She mumbled. The body was already growing sluggish.

"Is there anything you need before you sleep?" There wasn't much point in asking, but distracting questions usually helped a patient fall asleep faster.

"Waking up would be nice." The girl answered with a sardonic smile. Then gave a tired chuckle to her little joke. "But then ag-" a yawn interrupted "not possib- -can't- -ome." She mumbled quietly as she fell asleep.

Harwin sighed and gave a small reassuring pat on her hand. Not that the girl would feel it. It was a sad state of affairs, indeed. But it gave little difference to concern himself now with whatever troubles she was enduring. Those could be solved later. For now, though, there were cuts in need of mending.


	4. Chapter 4: Lady Spicer

Author's note: After a vacation and some weeks of sputtered writing, I powerhoused through and wrote 2500 words in two days! Not gonna lie, pretty darn excited to get this chapter out.

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones. They belong to their rightful owners. Any characters you see here that are not from those stories are my own.

* * *

Chapter Four: Lady Spicer

It felt as though she'd barely slept, and hardly dreamed, if at all. Her brain felt like lead and it was hard to focus on her surroundings. Everything was dulled and yellow from the glow of candle light. Body stiff and sore when she attempted to flex her limbs. Some more painful than others, signaling the likelihood of spending another few days bedridden. She gave a muffled groan of irritation. So much for opium's reputation as a relaxant.

"How are you feeling?" She heard the maester's voice ask.

"Like shit." She answered through closed eyes. The world becoming too dizzying to look at.

A snorted laugh could be heard from the bedside. Glad to know her suffering was amusing to the man.

"I don't suppose these after effects will go away anytime soon?" She asked.

The man hummed on that. "The effects of milk of the poppy are generally mild. If I may…" She felt his hands feel the pressure of her pulse. After that inspection he had her open her eyes to look at her pupils and feel around different pressure points on the skin and ask how each point reacted to her. "What you are feeling is not to do with milk of the poppy. Your body is reacting to the amount of stress and damage you've endured today. In truth, once milk of the poppy leaves your body the pain may worsen. I would advise that you take another draught after you've had something to eat."

Jasmine frowned at the recommendation. Being high on opium isn't what she needed right now. What she needed was a brain that could function properly. She had to think. She had to _plan_. Surviving in Westeros wasn't going to be easy. Hell, she didn't even know _when_ she was. You'd think that a comatose/dead/delirious mind would have sent her to the start of the story. Year 298 AC, when Ned Stark executed the man from the Night's Watch after he ran from the White Walkers. But beyond this pavilion a prince was decimating a jousting contest. And no living prince of that time was old enough to achieve such a feat. Yet Tywin Lannister was alive. So that left about... 30 other possible years. Her head hurt to much to actually do the appropriate math.

"How about a distraction, then?" She suggested. "I'm new here. So how about I ask you some questions about this place and you give answers." There, no strong amount of thinking required.

"Very well, what do you wish to know?"

.

.

She learned a fair bit over the next hour or so. She had to start off vague and all-encompassing to avoid sounding like a bit of an expert. How big was Westeros. It's geography and kingdoms. It's trade and culture. It's religions. Most importantly, who was the king and who were the major lords and their heirs.

-There was also a slight derailment at the start of her questions. It seems the Marbrand brothers had left out what she said about being from the West. In fact, the Maester was under the impression that she was from Dorne. Which didn't surprise her, really. Having wavy black hair, golden medium-toned skin, almond eyes, and a fairly obvious Mediterranean bone structure would all scream Rhoynish or Dothraki blood to a person of this continent. Hell, even her nose, the only remnant of her half-Jewish legacy, was up for debate since it was actually a pretty standard feature in the Middle East. Getting through that derailment had been a little tricky. Fortunately the effort of thinking up lies had worsened the pain in her head so much that she was able to use that as an excuse to avoid any questions of her past until a later time.-

The singular fact that helped hone in on the timeline was that this festival was going on to commemorate the birth of Prince Viserys Targaryen. Though while his birth was being celebrated here, in Lannisport, the babe and his mother, Queen Rhaella, had remained in King's Landing instead of attending. The King and Queen had a string of bad luck when it came to infant mortality, it seemed. So they feared that the baby would be targeted and killed if he was brought here.

But he wouldn't die. Not now, at least. Viserys had been 8 years old when Daenerys was born, and Dany was around 13 or 14 when Viserys died. So he had about 22 more years until he met his fate. A victim of a pot of molten gold and his own foolish pride. Of that, she was certain.

 _Wait._ But was she?

It was in the books, and it was in the show. That information alone should set it in stone. But the story didn't include people from other worlds dropping out of the sky. Does that mean her presence changes things? Or does that mean she could get home quickly enough that no damage to the timeline could be made? But how could she get home? If she can't, then how can she avoid changing things? _Should_ things stay the same? After all, Winter is coming. Cliche as it sounded. Winter meant White Walkers, and White Walkers meant death for humanity. What if there was a way to prepare for that? Too many questions that she didn't have an answer to.

What she needed was someone who _did_ have those kind of answers.

"Harwin, if you could remind me, how old did you say is Lord Tywin's heir?"

"Jaime Lannister has ten years, my dear." The maester answered.

Ten years old. Jaime and Cersei are twins, and Cersei had been about nine or ten when she sought out Maggy the Frog. It was a tournament, like this one. And Rhaegar was a teenager with many successful rounds in the tourney. Yes, yes. This was the tourney where Maggy made her predictions for Cersei's life. Which meant she was here. Somewhere among the masses.

And she was going to find her.

* * *

A small meal and another dose of milk of the poppy later, Jasmine managed to convince the Maester that she was well enough to leave the tent to stretch her legs. Emerging into the dusky light of the evening, she hobbled round the Marbrand tents in attempt to smooth her stride. It was also an opportunity to memorize the look of the tents for when she planned to make her way back. They were a cluster of tents ranging from cushy pavilions to modest shanties. All dyed in variations of orange, grey and brown. The largest ones had banners posted outside, decorated with a flaming tree of similar colouring as their sigil. It wasn't one she recognized. Then again, House Marbrand wasn't a familiar name either.

There were more tents beyond the Marbrands', stretching across the grassy plain in all directions. Once she felt confident in her gait, she pushed forward to explore them. As she made her way through a small selection of the plains other sigils came into view. Both familiar and unknown alike. The lions of Lannister. Bats of Whent. A sword crossed with a falling star on a purple backdrop. Roses of Tyrell. A red apple on yellow. A sea turtle on green. Even the red-on-black dragons of the Targaryens, whom were absent from Westeros by the time of the books, stood proudly on a hilltop overlooking the flock of celebrating attendees.

But these were not the sigils she sought. What she required was the image of House Spicer. Lord Spicer was Maggy's son. Or perhaps it was the grandson at this point? Details were obscure regarding this tourney. Including the Spicer sigil. It involved a few metal containers of spices, she recalled, but the design of its backdrop was something that she had never paid attention to, thus was forgotten. So she was resigned to inspect every group of tents she came across, and hoped that one with spice pots would soon come into view.

.

.

In time dusk faded and only the light of torches remained to lead the way. People were milling past her, returning to their tents to retire for the evening. Perhaps, she thought, she should be doing the same. It would get harder to search as the night went on. Both for her eyes and for the bodily pain. Yet still she merely sighed and pressed forward. She didn't know how long the tourney would last, and didn't want to risk the chance of missing Maggy.

"Jasmine? Is that you?" A man's voice asked.

Her head turned at the sound of her name. A few paces ahead a was group of roughly a dozen men and women coming down the grass-trodden pathway. From the flicker of torchlight she was able to make out the face of Daven Marbrand giving her a curious look. At his call, the rest of the group slowed to a stop. Among them she was able to see Anders, who was previously distracted in conversation with another man and carrying a toddler on his shoulders all the while.

"Uh, ya. Hi." She gave a short wave. She paused for half a moment. Wondering if people in Westeros even _understood_ that hi was short for hello; or, for that matter, if they even used the word hello. Then decided that it may be best to switch things to avoid the need to translate. "Um, I mean, good evening."

"What are you doing out of bed? Maester Harwin specifically instructed that you needed to lay down and rest." Daven chastised.

"Right…" She scratched the back of her head sheepishly. Feeling slightly embarrassed under the weight of stares from most of the troupe. "I just wanted to stretch my legs and take a quick look around." Daven still looked at her with exasperation and a touch of disbelief. It was the sort of look a parent gave a child when it was obvious they were trying to lie their way out of a situation. Her eyes flicked around the group, giving inspiration for a change in topic. "Perhaps it would be best if we all introduced ourselves?" She gestured to the group collectively.

Anders seemed to latch onto the bait and directed the conversation away from the awkward scolding. "Excellent suggestion!" He took the hand of the blonde woman beside him and stepped forward. "Jasmine Switzer, may I introduce you to my wife, Lia."

At the introduction, Jasmine was struck by the woman's beauty. She had a soft, heart-shaped face and dazzling emerald green eyes. She also seemed to move with a gentle grace that felt reminiscent of an angelic quality Jasmine had seen in Renaissance paintings. In all honesty, the woman was probably one of two or three people she'd ever met that had such lovely features. Lia gave her a warm smile and curtsied to her. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Jasmine."

"And to you as well." She gave a tiny curtsy in return, ensuring to hold back a grimace as the movement put added pressure on her hip wound. She glanced up at the small boy on Anders' shoulders. "And who's this little cutie?" She cooed, causing the boy to sheepishly duck down into closer to the man's head.

Anders grinned. "This is my son, Desmond. Don't be shy, Desmond." He prompted the toddler. The little blond boy didn't say anything, but waved shyly at her. Jasmine grinned in turn and waved back. She had a weakness for kids. They were so adorable that one couldn't help but interact and play with them.

One by one, Anders introduced her to the rest of the group. First came Melissa. A redheaded woman with blue eyes flecked with green, notably defined cheekbones, and a sharp nose. She was wife to their eldest brother, Damon (who was still at the feast speaking with Tywin Lannister, interestingly enough). Melissa's greeting showed more of a poised and refined courtesy compared to Lia's grace. Though it seemed to Jasmine as a quality stereotypically befitting to the wife of a lord's heir. Following Melissa came her three copper-haired children. Addam, a boy of eight. Darlessa, who was six. And in her arms slept two year-old Alysanne.

Next came Ryella, who was Daven's wife. She was a mousy young girl of an age with Daven (that is, about sixteen or so years old), with medium ash-brown hair and nut brown eyes. She was a little overweight and had a face decorated with freckles. Though her most defining feature was her demure and polite nature that shone as she greeted the woman before her.

The final four to be introduced were cousins to her hosts. The eldest was Ser Donnel Marbrand. He was a tall, brawny, square-jawed gentleman with brown hair and hazel eyes. With him was his wife, Margarey. A petite woman with a small, pointed nose. Her black hair and deep widow's peak defined her heart-shaped face and vibrant blue eyes. Comparing the two, it seemed as though someone had struck a marriage between a giant and a pixie. The other two cousins, Alyn and Jason, were black-haired and brown eyed. Though, unlike their elder brother, their faces better resembled the narrower features of the Marbrand lords.

After introductions were established, the group started walking again towards the family's tents and continue with conversations that had been paused. Jasmine, though, hesitated to follow.

"Are you not coming with us?" Lia asked her.

Jasmine felt torn and tongue-tied. Unsure of what to say. The truth, or a lie? She swayed between her options and tried to find a way to balance between the two.

"I want to. I was planning on making my way back soon. It's just that…While walking I heard someone mention that there was a maegi at the festival. I heard about maegis in a book once. I was hoping to see her and… I thought she might know of a way for me to return to my land."

"Your land?" Lia asked hesitantly.

"So it's true, then." Melissa half-whispered. Eyes seeming both surprised and guarded. "You are from across the Sunset Sea."

A blush creeped up Jasmine's face and she bit her lip with uncertainty as to how to respond. The wives gave her a look of subdued surprised. The cousins, on the other hand, looked between Melissa and Jasmine in bewilderment.

"You're from _where_?" Jason exclaimed.

"Ah, yes, you were not present when we had this conversation, cousin." Anders laughed nervously.

"Though those of us who were there thought you were making fools of us." Lia lightheartedly joked.

Jasmine was getting more tense despite the laughter. She didn't want more people to know what she had said about living out West. Didn't want things to escalate. For more questions to be asked that she didn't have answers to. For people to find out the truth.

"I am." She announced, just loud enough to break over the voices and smooth over her voice to sound more certain. The others stopped to listen to what she had to say. "That's why I need to find the maegi of House Spicer as soon as possible. If she's anything like those I've heard about, then there's a chance for me to get back to my family." Tears began to form in her eyes. They were genuine, for the most part, but held back just enough for dramatic effect. "Please, if any of you know how to find her, I'd be eternally grateful."

The others shifted. They were eager to ask their questions, but understood that now was not the time. On top of that, some of them seemed to be uncomfortable with her plea. Or perhaps it was her tears? In the end, it was shy Ryella who spoke up.

"I know where House Spicer has made camp. I'm sure we can find her there."

A warm smile broke over her face. She had to fight back the urge to give the girl a hug, and instead took her hands in hers with joy. "Thank you so much, Ryella."

Losing all pretenses, she broke the hold and gave her a squeezing hug. The girl yelped in surprised. Which ignited some chuckles amongst the group. When the hugs were over, and the poor girl's blush started to recede, Jasmine bid the group goodbye and practically dragged Ryella by the hand as they moved to find the Spicers.

.

.

They made light conversation as they weaved through the pavilions. The jousting had ended that day, Ryella explained, with Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard as the victor. There was a feast tonight in celebration of the results, as well as to the king and his newborn son, of course. The group had stayed at the feast for some time, but retired once the children began dozing off. Though some of them were planning to return later to enjoy the fun.

Naturally, Ryella had questions about Jasmine as well. There was less pressure with the lack of ears around them, but still she tried to weave through them as carefully as she could. The question that threw her off the most had been why it was she was able to speak the Common Tongue. She ended up using that pause of confusion to claim that it wasn't called by that name, but was called English, after the eastern island nation of England. That wasn't a lie, of course. But it made for the perfect abili. An island composed of people whose ancestors came from the East. Who spoke of grand castles and dragon kings. Of the lands beyond, like Valyria and Asshai. Of the Andals and the First Men who conquered the land over forest-dwelling creatures and terrible monsters that came with the long Winter nights. And like those great adventurers of old, their influence spread to her own continent. The language passed on through generations and mingled with the tongues of her land. The culture remained to a degree on the island, but was lost among the thrall of influences that came from the mainland. Over the centuries, tales of Westeros began to fade. And while there were attempts to sail across the Atlantic, their name for the Sunset Sea, to find Westeros, there had never been anyone to successfully make a return home. So many began to think that the place was a myth.

"Though that opinion changed a few years ago." Jasmine remarked thoughtfully. "About… I'd say at least 20 to 30 years ago there was a man who washed ashore who claimed he was from your land. A sailor by the name of George Martin. He wrote tales of Westeros and had them published for people to read. It got a lot of people talking about it and wanting to see if the land really does exist."

"Is that why you came to Westeros?" Ryella asked.

"What? Oh, goodness, no. I didn't even consider that Westeros was a real place! His stories would mention things like dragons and wargs. And the English have a habit of inventing stories about lords of time or magical nannies and the like. I thought it was another one of those stories. Fairy tales to entertain kids."

"Kids?"

"Children. My mistake." She corrected. "But, yes, I was traveling on a leisure cruise. A cousin of mine won a free trip and invited me along. When I first arrived here I thought I had ended up in England. Imagine my surprise when your husband and his brother mentioned the Lannister family. I was terrified. Thought I had gone mad, dreaming that I had dropped into a storybook, of all places!" She laughed.

Though it was hardly a joke. A part of her was still sure she had lost her mind. Even so… being able to laugh about it was helping to ease the pain.

"That must have been trying. But now that you have come here, how do-"

Ryella's question was interrupted by the sound of a painful scream. The women jumped at the sound. Hearing the scream change to shrieking curses in indistinguishable words. Ten meters up ahead, the shadows of two children emerged from a tent and sped off into the night. The shrieking continued inside. Jasmine and Ryella ran (well, hobbled, in Jasmine's case) towards the tent.

Ryella paused at the entrance. Her face lit with an eerie green glow, and she suddenly looked afraid. As Jasmine made it to the tent, thoughts and images clicked together. Understanding what had just taken place.

"Go after those two. I'll stay here and make sure she's alright."

"But this woman" The teen trembled "she's a..."

"Just go! I'll be fine!" She shouted. Yes, she knew what Maggy was. Yes, she knew that she probably looked all the frog that Cersei believed her to be. But that didn't matter, she needed to see her. And if Ryella was otherwise distracted from listening in, well, that was just a bonus.

"Yes. Alright." Ryella turned and ran after the girls. Jasmine doubted she'd be able to find them with such a big head start, but it was worth it to try. Once at the entrance, she rolled her shoulders and walked through the flap of the tent. This was it. It was now or never.

.

.

All of her determination shriveled up and died the minute she walked into the tent. It wasn't because of the queer atmosphere of spices and musks akin to a gypsy fortune teller. Nor was it from the eerie glow of green light that shone through a serpentine brazier. It wasn't even because she was sharing the room with a witch capable of blood-magic. No, none of that. That's because it wasn't a witch she saw when she looked upon Maggy. What she saw was an old woman, writhing on her knees in agony and in dire need of help.

She ran to Maggy's side. Her eyes were shut tight. Blinded by some dark coloured paste dripping down her face like sludge. Shards from a pot where imbedded in the sludge as well as were cascaded around her body on the floor. Looking around quickly, she couldn't find a cloth within reach. So she resigned to removing her new cardigan to wipe off the mess from the woman's face.

"Here. Let me take this stuff off of you" She gestured. Taking the old woman's cheek in one hand to steady her, she used the other to lightly remove layers of the paste. Maggy started to sway, and gripped a hand on Jasmine's arm to steady herself.

"What are you?" The woman croaked in between moans of pain. Her grip tightened.

"The person trying to help you." She retorted sharply. She was keeping her focus on the paste. Making sure that none of the shards brushed against the skin. "Do you have anything to soothe the pain or wash off the rest of this stuff safely?"

The woman gave a shaky nod. Lifting her other hand to point a bony finger towards a shelf on her right. "The red flask." She gasped. "On the second shelf."

Before she could retrieve it a sound came from the flap. Craning her head to the side, she saw a man run into the tent. He was panting and gasping for air. Looking at the two of them on the floor, his face changed from fear to anger. The green light casting a darker look on his expression. "Wretched bitch." The man growled. "What have you done to my-"

"She needs help!" She interrupted him. Now wasn't the time for false blame. "Get the red flask on the second shelf. She said it will help."

The man looked stupefied. His anger turning to confusing. Then, finally understanding, marched over to the shelf and delivered the vial.

"Do you know how to use it?" Jasmine asked him. "I don't want to mess up and make things worse for her."

The man nodded. He had her move aside and lifted Maggy onto the bed. He took control of the situation. Grabbing whatever items he needed and worked at the table to get it ready. -One of them, to Jasmine's dismay, was a cloth from the stand that she _could_ have used if she had actually spent an extra second to look for one.- While he poured the liquid mix onto the cloth, Jasmine sat at the old woman's bedside and held her hand tightly. Whispering reassurances that everything will be alright soon.

"You are… a strange one." The woman mumbled hoarsely. "But I must give thanks. There are not many that would enter here. Much less offer their assistance to a woman like myself."

Jasmine smiled and attempted to tease her to lighten the mood. "Sounded like a better idea than coming in here to throw pots in someone's face. I hope Ryella catches them and gives them a good thrashing."

"Ay. They will get their due. In time. But you are not so different from them." She grumbled. "You came here for the same reasons they did."

Jasmine frowned, feeling riddled with guilt. "I did." She admitted. "But… it doesn't matter. It's... it's not important." A part of her screamed at herself. Of course it was important! What was she saying! She shoved those thoughts aside and instead held the woman's hand tighter. "What matters is that you get better."

The old woman paused. Her closed eyes furrowed and her lips tightened to a thin line. Then, they turned to an ever so light smile. "A strange one, indeed." She murmured quietly, almost with warmth.

The man, Maggy's son she presumed, had the cloth ready and moved to the bed to heal her eyes. Jasmine took that as a cue to move from the bed and walked outside of the tent to give them some space.

A few minutes past and soon Ryella returned to the tent. Panting from the run and chest heaving through the bodice of her dress.

"Were you able to find them?" Jasmine asked.

"Forgive me. They ran too quickly. I could not find them."

"That's alright. It couldn't be helped." It was probably best that they weren't found, anyways. It would have guaranteed her influence on the timeline if that scene changed from what Cersei remembered.

"And the witch?" Ryella asked.

Jasmine flinched at the comment. She knew people likely didn't treat the woman well, being a maegi. But after meeting her and trying to help take care of her, it just felt cruel. "She's hurt, but hopefully will get better soon. Her son's in there now and taking care of her injury."

Ryella nodded. "Did you ask her about..."

"No. I…" She sighed. "She's been hurt. It wouldn't have been right."

Ryella's eye lit in understanding and gave her a sympathetic smile. Then her eyes drifted to the side. Back the way they'd came.

Jasmine's shoulder's slumped. Knowing what the girl was thinking. "I suppose it's time to head back, isn't it?"

The girl jumped and blushed in embarrassment. "If it is not too much to ask? I know you wished to have words with her."

She held up a hand to reassure her. "It's fine. It's fine. I'll just let them know I'm going."

She turned and walked back into the tent. The son was washing Maggy's eyes with the cloth. Using on bowl to absorb the liquid substance while another was used as a waste bin to wring out the sludge-like paste. She walked over and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "My friend and I have to go now. Is there anything else you need?"

"We'll be fine." The man gruffed. "Did you see who did this to my grandmother?" Oh, this was her grandson. Though, in her defense, it was a little hard to distinguish ages in the dim green light.

"I saw the shadows of children. But not their faces, no."

"Then there's nothing of use you can do." He responded harshly.

She bristled at his tone. But also tried to justify it that he was just angry that his grandmother was attacked. Considering the violence she herself had endured today, she could relate. "Alright then. I hope you get better soon, Lady Spicer." Jasmine nodded her head to the woman and turned to walk out.

"Storm-comer." Maggy called out. Jasmine paused and turned to face her.

 _Did she mean me?_

"Return on the morrow." She instructed. "And I will give you your foretelling."

Jasmine stood in shock, back straightened as her mind reeled. Letting the words circle in her ears. Their meaning seeping through and becoming clear. A grinned stretched across her face. "I'll be here!" she promised, and bounded out of the tent with a spring to her step.

* * *

.

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Author's Note: And Day One in Westeros is complete! That only took 3.5 chapters. Lol! The timeline will be picking up the pace from this point forward. But it feels like a milestone making the introductory saga complete.

Question for you all: Do they actually say the word "hello" in ASOIAF?


	5. Chapter 5: Wind and Water

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones. They belong to their rightful owners. Any characters you see here that are not from those stories are my own.

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Chapter Five: Wind and Water

Thunder was rolling in from the West. With it came the rain.

It had been three days of rain so far. Though one could suppose that it just came with the geography. Ashemark was situated in a divot on the spine of the northern mountain range in the Westerlands. It wasn't close enough to the coast that it got the brunt of stormy weather like, say, The Crag or the ruins of Castamere, but it was still enough to get the remainder of heavy Autumn rain clouds that attempted to pass through the hills.

Jasmine watched as the rain fell. Filling springwaters that overflowed into tributaries. Watching water trickle East, down the farmlands and hills. Slowly to curve northward to meet with the Tumblestone River. Then gaze longingly at the waters that travelled West. Fast streams and steep waterfalls that led through forests and out to the Sunset Sea.

The cold rain pattered against her skin. Goosebumps raised as she rested, arms crossed, against the stone parapet. Rather than run from the rain, she welcomed it. She wished she could be one of those droplets of water. Run fast and strong until she could reach the sea, where a trick wind could stir up a storm. The kind that could rip you from the world and bring you home.

The thunder rumbled again. In a way it felt like a song. Lifting her arms, she let the rain and the wind wash over her. It made her ache with longing, but at the same time it made her feel alive. Feel free.

 _Storm-comer._ The Maegi had called her.

The memory brought a sad smile to her face. Silent tears mixed in with the fresh water of the rain. Because that was what she was, wasn't she? A creature that rode into this world on the winds of a storm. How quaint that she now felt solace in those winds.

Her thoughts drifted to the night she was given that name; and the day after when she had gotten her foretelling.

.

.

She had gone to see the Maegi after a quick breakfast. Allowing Ryella to once again guide her to the Spicer's encampment. She recalled how the Maegi emerged from her tent as they arrived, as though she had sensed their presence in the air.

Maggy the Frog didn't look half so hideous as she seemed the night before. A part of Jasmine attributed it to seeing her in the sunlight as opposed to a night shaded by eerie green flames. The other part deemed it had been a bias from Cersei's descriptions in A Feast for Crows. Back when she had expected to see her more as a witch instead of as a human being. Descriptions from a ten year old's nightmares were bound to do that, she supposed. But in the freshness of a new day, the woman before her was simply an old woman in her eyes. A bit warty and a practitioner of blood magic and sorcery, yes, but a person nonetheless.

She had greeted the Lady Spicer and her grandson, Samwell, with a smile and a curtsy. Ryella had given an abashed greeting herself. Though whether it was out of fear or because she was going through a thought process similar to Jasmine's, she couldn't say. Once greetings were exchanged, things came to the moment of truth. For her to enter the tent with the Maegi and get her foretelling.

Upon tasting her blood, Lady Spicer had been… reluctant to go on. Oh, who was Jasmine kidding? The woman had an absolute freak-out. It wasn't even because of what she saw of her future (at least, she _hoped_ that had nothing to do with it). It had been because it also showed her the past.

" _How is this possible!"_ The old woman had looked at her in horror. "The places you've journeyed. The things you've seen. The things you _know_. How?" She had croaked. Her eyes searched Jasmine's own for answers.

Jasmine had only shrugged. "I'd have asked the same question about the people of this world. Yet, here we are."

The woman had gotten up and paced about the room. Shuddering as she scratched at her head and rubbed her eyes. Muttering quietly to herself in what Jasmine could only assume was Valyrian or some other language of the East. Struggling to process all that she was seeing. Jasmine continued to sit. Patiently waiting to see how things would play out. The minutes ticked by. It was about twenty minutes in when the woman stopped suddenly. Turning to face Jasmine with a look of bewilderment.

"You knew to seek me out." She rasped.

Jasmine went cold. A part of her had expected it, but to hear the woman say it…

"I did." she said solemnly.

The maegi looked away. Her eyes seeing something Jasmine could not. "That woman… That is not me. Neither is the child. But the words… they are near identical to the morrows I foretold the night before."

Was she seeing the TV show through Jasmine's eyes? It was an eerie thought in and of itself. Though while the show wasn't exactly accurate, it would be enough to unnerve any person of this world.

"A mummers play." She had responded. Realistically, it was the closest equivalent. "Not entirely accurate, but it gave me enough clues to help me find you."

The old woman shook her head, and continued to pace once more. It was another fifteen minutes before the woman gave in. Hands bracing on a table. Eyes looking into a distant world beyond her comprehension.

"Yet here we are." She muttered to herself. She scoffed and turned to face Jasmine. "I knew you were a strange one, Storm-comer. Even now you smell of wind and water and queer magic. But this," She shook her head "this is beyond anything I had expected. Yes, I can see why you would seek me out." She walked over and sat beside her. "Only I wish you had not. Such visions will haunt me the rest of my years, I would imagine."

Jasmine's shoulders sagged. All at once feeling guilty about the knowledge she just heaped onto the woman. "I'm sorry about that." She attempted to console.

The old woman had only waved a hand. "What's done is done." She muttered. "I suppose you have your questions, hmm?"

Oh, she had questions, alright. She'd spent the night before shuffling thoughts around. Events and timelines. Questions and consequences. Worked her brain into exhaustion until she had developed a damn flowchart of questions and possible answers. Maybe if she'd have more time, the chart would be better thought out. For a lot of the pathways she had trouble thinking up a good third question. At the end of it all, she ended up jotting down those ideas with plans to tailor them depending on what answers she'd be given to her first two questions.

"I suppose I'll start with the one I need an answer to the most. Will I ever make it back to my world?" It could be Canada, the Caribbean, it could be Cambodia for all that she cared. Knowledge of an outcome meant that she could establish a timeline for her return, and plan accordingly.

"I apologize, my child." The maegi croaked solemnly. "The wind and water may have birthed you into this world, but earth and fire shall keep your bones here. You will never return to your world."

Just like that, the world crashed all around her. For a moment all other questions had lapsed. They didn't matter. Why the fuck would anything else matter? She wasn't going home!

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, but the maegi had been as patient with her and she had been with her own horrors.

She had to shove it down. Shove it all down. She planned for that answer. She didn't want it to be real, but she had known it was a possibility and had considered what was needed to be asked. She breathed. Gaining enough composure to look back up at the maegi.

"Fine. That's the way it is." She grounded out. What the hell was it that she was suppose to ask again? She was stuck here. That meant timelines for her return didn't matter. But her future in this world did. "Will my actions affect the prophecies of this world?"

It took a while to come up with that one. A question of simply changing the future ended up sounding too vague. Any little action could technically be counted as a change. But what mattered to her wasn't little changes. Or even changes as big as the political mayhem of Robert's Rebellion or the War of Five Kings. ...Actually, that's a lie. The idea of dealing with wars scared the living daylights out of her. That being said, the long game was the White Walkers. There was only one thing she knew of that could stop them. The Prince that was Promised, Azor Ahai, Shadowchaser, and whatever other names it went by. Whomever it was (or _they_ if the dragon has three heads, as Maester Aemon once said), that person needs to exist.

She only hoped that she didn't screw that up.

The old woman laughed upon hearing her question. "Prophecies of the world? My, you do dream great dreams! That you are powerful enough to shape fate and make it anew!" She cackled.

Jasmine frowned at that. "No need to insult me. I've just landed into a whole other planet full of dragons and magic and the like. Forgive me if I'm a little cautious over things turning from bad to worse." She muttered sarcastically.

The Spicer suppressed her cackling down to small chuckles. "Apologies, my dear. You are untrained in the arts and so you do not understand. Prophecy is no small matter. Prophecy, _true prophecy_ , is something that cannot be changed. No matter how much you fight it. How many different roads you take. All roads lead to the same fate."

Jasmine nodded her head in contemplation. She supposed that that made sense. Well, in this world, that is. Not that she was any expert in space-time theories. So… she wouldn't make a difference. Right? Not one big enough to screw around with the white walker invasion, at least. Prophecy can't be changed.

Wait. Did she say _true_ prophecy? What the hell does _that_ mean? Oh god, this was starting to sound like that fan theory about green dreams being nothing but a manipulation from people like Marwyn and Quaithe. Shit. Does that mean she _does_ change things or _doesn't_? Ack! This was just getting more confusing the more she thought about it.

Oh, Christ, _now_ what is she suppose to do?

"You seem hesitant to ask your third question."

"Ha! _Hesitant._ " She raised her eyebrow at the maegi and gave a sardonic smile. "You have _no_ idea." She took a breath, stretching her back, and raised her head to stare at the ceiling of the tent. She sighed and relaxed her body back to its original position. "Can I be real with you for a second?"

The woman raised an eyebrow of confusion at her. Right. Saying 'be real with you' has no meaning here. But she didn't feel quite like translating and dove right into her point. "The truth is, there are plenty of things I'd like to know. _What brought me here? How will I die? What's the secret of the universe? Could I kill off certain players and get away with it? What can I do to help save the world?_ And so on.

"The trouble, though, is knowing the difference between questions that I want the answers to, and questions that _need_ answers. If this was my own world, or if I didn't know the way things could get played out in this world, I'd have probably asked some personal questions to remove a fear of death or know who I was gonna marry or something. But I'm _here_ , and I know more than I should. So, frankly, those other things have to take a back seat so that I can concentrate of the big picture of events that will take place here. Otherwise, well, I doubt I'd survive long here anyways."

The Maegi watched her as she explained her problem. When Jasmine had finished, the old woman gave her a small, good-natured smile. "If you cannot decide on a question, Storm-comer, then perhaps I can offer you advice in its stead?"

Jasmine mulled over the offer, then gave a lazy shrug. "You're the one who's seen my future. By all means."

"If you wish to make the world a better place, it would be best if you did not fear so greatly for it."

She gave the woman a look of disbelief. "Don't worry about it. _That's_ your advice?"

The old woman chuckled. "I've seen into your life, my dear. You fear too much. All it takes is a moment of hesitation and it consumes your heart with ease. That is not to say you are a coward at your core. Gods know, you gave no hesitation to help me when I was in need and offered the courtesy of my son's House, while your friend over yonder refused to enter and called me a witch." She gestured out beyond the tent where Ryella stood waiting.

"You are a kind soul, Storm-comer, but that kindness and concern for the morrows of the world can drive one mad. More importantly, such attention to concern is not necessary." The maegi glance at Jasmine's bewildered expression and gave a sigh. "Aye. Yet my saying so appears to be worsening your affliction. How else may I describe it?" The maegi paused a moment, eyes wandering as she considered a thought.

"In the other land, you studied to become a… gardener, yes?"

"Landscape architect." She answered simply.

' _Big difference.'_ A thought she kept to herself. Now was not the time to dwell on pet peeves. Though she doubted the woman would understand the long-form explanation, anyways.

"But I suppose you can stick with the idea of someone who creates gardens, if that helps?"

The woman nodded and pressed forward with her thought. "A gardener cannot change the seasons nor summon the rain nor affect that which dwells in the forests and rivers surround. What they _can_ do is nurture the life that grows in their garden. Sow seeds, fertilize the earth, drive beasts from the crop, and all else that helps them grow strong. A Winter can drive nature into the death and cold; but, come Spring, a strong and well-tended garden can burst forth and bring new life with ease.

"It is much the same for your own life, Storm-comer. You believe you can go forth and change the world, but you are mistaken. Your place is not in shaping the world, but in shaping your own garden and tending to those which dwell in it. Any deviations that come forth of those actions will not be by personal endeavours to seek out fate, but by fate's attempts to place your garden on its course.

"So do not take fear to heart, Storm-comer, and tend to your own life. The sooner you accept that, the happier your life shall be."

.

.

The thunder rolled again across the sky. Lightning flashing over distant hills. Breaking Jasmine out of the memory.

 _Do not fear and the happier your life shall be._

Jasmine made a huff of discontent.

 _Ya, easier said than done._

She's tried. She's really tried. But getting a person known for panic attacks to get over their anxieties about being dropped in a fantasy series of medieval mayhem is starting to seem about as successful as giving shrooms to a schizophrenic just before a psych test.

Things seemed to go well, at first. At the end of the tourney Lord Joseth Marbrand and his family had done a kindness by inviting her to stay in Ashemark. Opening their home to a strange woman from a stranger land. In a world as perilous as this, it seemed like a great way to stay safe, out of the way of fate, and a perfect place to tread the waters calmly to adjust to life in Westeros as the maegi suggested.

During the two week duration of travel out of Lannisport to Ashemark she had spent most of the journey bedridden in a wagon. Doctor's orders. Maester Harwin had not been pleased with her little excursions to the Spicer's and put his foot down that she needed to rest and heal her wounds. She tried to relax during the trip, but her mind kept tossing and layering ideas over each other about the books that sometimes she could hardly sleep without a prescribed dose of milk of the poppy.

After a while she started worrying that, as time went on, she might forget crucial plot points. So she decided to jot down plots in her sketchbook for reference. Only to then get paranoid that someone might find them and ask questions, and subsequently toss the sheet of paper in a fire. She then tried using codes and sketches for memories sake. ...Until paranoia hit her again and turned the drawings into kindling.

Things got even worse after doing a bit of math. The current year is 276AC. Which means another 22 years until the story starts rolling. That also meant that, by the time Game of Thrones begins, she, a 22 year old woman, will have already spent half of her life in Westeros.

That realization didn't receive so well on her psyche. She ended up having a full blown panic attack followed by a numbing adrenaline crash that lasted for two whole days.

When the numbness finally subsided, she spent a day walking through the castle's godswood. It seemed an apt location to think on her situation and reflect on the Maegi's words. After hours of meandering through the garden and relaxing among the flowers, trees, and wildlife, she came to a resolve. To accept her fate. To push back her fears and homesickness and try to enjoy her life as much as she could.

That night she came to dinner with a smile on her face and enjoyed the company of her hosts.

The next day she volunteered to help the kitchen staff prepare breakfast and spent the afternoon with the maester reading through a book on the histories of Westeros. As days went on she expanded her presence in the castle. Volunteering and befriending washer women and stable boys and gardeners and anyone else she happened upon. Spending time with the highborn ladies of the castle and having them teach her the 'womanly arts', as they so called sewing, dancing, and the like. Play with the children and entertain them with stories and songs. Listen to the Marbrand lords and their maester talk of trade or battle or politics or whatever current events became the subject matter of the day. Jasmine has poured her heart and soul into assimilating into this new world and keeping her concerns at bay.

The problem, though, is that she… she just can't. She can't adjust. She doesn't fit in. It's not just one thing, it's everything. The food, the clothing, the dialect, daily routines, hygiene practices, _chamber pots for crying out loud!_ None of it fits. It doesn't matter how much of it she's seen on TV. This whole world is just too strange. Too alien. Attempts to accommodate involve rigorous amounts of mental translations and censorship. Attempts to assimilate just lead to headache and disaster. Tools she used in her home world don't exist here (what she'd give for a Cuisinart or a laundry machine), and activities that are common here are dead or dying in the luxurious upbringing of first-world, middle class city girls (apparently not knowing how to sew in this world welcomes a lot of shocked and disdainful looks from women of every social class). Every night she goes to her little room exhausted, and succumbs to twisted dreams on a straw-filled bed.

It would get easier as time moved on. That's what she kept telling herself. But she's been living in Ashemark for over five weeks now. And today marked her second month in the world of Ice and Fire.

" _Wind and water birthed you into this world, but earth and fire shall keep your bones. You will never return to your world."_

Two months. It's only been two months out of what was left of her lifetime.

She broke down. Fallen to her knees as the rain poured and the thunder muffled her sobs.

It was all just too much.


	6. Chapter 6: Drifting Mind

Author's note: This will be the last chapter I post for at least two months. I will be joining in NaNoWriMo this year, so I will need the next ten days to prep and plan out story details. It's going to be an original story this time, which is very exciting for me! Anyone else taking part this year?

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones. They belong to their rightful owners. Any characters you see here that are not from those stories are my own.

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Chapter Six: Drifting Mind

"An infusion of clove and oregano is what I would advise." Maester Harwin offered. Grabbing a selection of powdered spice and dried leaves from his collection and placing measured doses of each into a pouch. "Mix a spoonful of these herbs into a cup of hot water and have three cups of the tea each day for one week. I further recommend that you eat garlic regularly and ask Gendel to make pumpkin soup for dinner tonight to steady the bowels." He tied the pouch closed and offered it to Jasmine.

"I'll do that. My thanks." She grabbed the bag from the man's opened hand.

He turned his hand to rest it on her shoulder. "You should have come to me sooner, my dear. You have lost colour and a stone of flesh. At such a speed it may have already done your body lasting harm."

Ya. She had to admit that it was pretty stupid on her part. Should have realized that sudden bouts of tiredness, weight loss, and other symptoms were things that needed to be checked out; and instead made excuses until it became hard to ignore. The weight loss, for example, had seemed like a great advantage at first. Jasmine was never exactly in the healthiest of weight ranges, and welcomed what she assumed was results from a diet of organic, unprocessed foods with open arms. Up until her clothes started falling loose on her. She had to resort borrowing dresses from other women at the castle until some clothes could be made for her.

Suffice to say, she wasn't happy with the prospect of not wearing pants for the rest of her life. She'd gladly take back the weight loss for it. Even if it meant having people keep staring at her wardrobe and seamstresses occasionally sneaking around to marvel at the fabric.

Though, realistically, all of that was tolerable compared to the abdominal pain she started getting the other day. It was a much-needed wakeup call to get her to finally seek the maester and get this mess sorted out.

In hindsight, she wasn't sure why she was surprised. This was a land without water filters and health inspectors. What? Did she really think she be able to live in this world and _not_ get infected by parasites? Yes, yes she did. And now she had to pay the price for her naive stupidity. That, and will probably have to resort to teas, wine, and boiled water for the rest of her life.

"I know. I should have known better. But hopefully I can get this fixed soon. Thank you for your help, Maester Harwin."

"I am happy to serve, Switzer." He bowed his head and gave her a smile. Then his expression changed. Pondering. "Before you go, there is another matter I wish to speak with you about."

"Sure. What is it?"

The man gestured her to take a seat at table. She took the chair without much thought and waited for him to go on.

"Lia tells me you have not been well, in a way that is not related to your infection. Troubling dreams, melancholia, a drifting mind?" It was given like an open ended question. Jasmine had enough experience to understand that the maester was switching from his doctoral link of the chain into that of a counsellor.

"Just homesickness. I can handle it." She tried to assure him. "It's just… this new life takes adjusting." _Understatement of the year, but I digress._

The maester nodded, but his eyes watched her steadfast and calculating. "And none of it is to do with your meeting with the woods witch, hmm?"

Jasmine flinched. Just enough for his eyes to catch. He raised his eyebrows and gave her a serious look that essentially said 'the jig is up'.

She huffed. Biting her lip and looking away from him. Then moved her eyes back to meet his. "Is it really that obvious?"

"For someone such as myself, yes."

He didn't continue beyond that. Letting some seconds of silence stretch before Jasmine felt compelled to fill it.

"I can't go home. That's what she said. I'm stuck here and have to deal with the future consequences of that fact." _And present. Let's not forget that the present isn't all that great either._

Harwin paused for a moment to choose his wording. "If I am to speak openly, my dear, even without the words of the woods witch, the odds of you returning to your land would not be likely. Only the most daring and foolhardy seamen would attempt such a journey. You have said as much yourself that the last Westerosi to have come to your land within centuries was a shipwrecked sailor who washed ashore."

"I'm aware of that." She said pointedly. Mentally cursing the name George R. R. Martin as he was mentioned. That was becoming a bit of a habit. It's not that this whole mess was his _fault_ , exactly; ….but it did help to have a scapegoat to heap her frustrations on.

"I am certain you are. Which is why I believe that your concern has more to do with what other prophecies she may have given you."

Another flinch. Her eyes went wide as she looked at him.

 _How the hell did he… this guy is way too good at his job._

"I'm not talking about that."

"Sharing your concerns with someone is a healthy way to alleviate yo-"

"Out of the question." She interrupted her sternly. She wouldn't allow him the chance to pick apart her psyche and figure out the _real_ reason why she was so scared of living in Westeros.

"You don't have to explain what she claimed was in your morrows, if you do not wish it." he insisted. "My intention is ensure that you do not take such claims seriously. It's natural for people to be drawn to the unknown. To magic and the higher mysteries. But to take such things on faith is ill-advised. Witches and sorcerers are no more than tricksters and conjurers of illusions. They make vague claims in order to gain fortune or notoriety. The woods witch may have made her claims sound like prophecy; but, for the sake of your mind, you must accept that her words were falsehoods and not allow them to control your life."

"I've… _considered_ that." her voice strained to say. Because she had. The thought had occurred to her on more than one occasion. Mental battles arguing their positions. Memories of fan theory videos and novel texts building up each case. Jojen Reed saw things like the Frey's ill news and Ramsey's plans to pass off the miller's boys for the Starks. The Ghost of High Heart saw the results of many events around the world and predicted the bloodline of the Prince that was Promised. On the other hand, the Three-Eyed Raven and the Children of the Forest are part of a hive mind that enters dreams, sees through time and whispers through the trees. Marwyn, and Quaithe have glass candles that enable them to see into people's dreams. They can whisper fears and alter perceptions for the purpose of advancing their goals and ambitions. People can go around proclaiming vaguely ominous dragon dreams and green dreams; but, in the end, how do we know that it isn't manipulation from some other force?

Then comes people like Maggy the Frog. Unlike the Ghost, Jojen, and, hell, even her own family, her predictions weren't vague. Melara asked if she'd marry Jamie. She told her that she wouldn't. Cersei asked when she'd marry the prince, if she'd be queen, and how many children she and her husband would have. The maegi bluntly told her that she wouldn't marry the prince, that she'd be queen, and how many children she and Robert would each have. It may have sounded vague to Cersei at the time, but they really _were_ fact-of-the-matter answers. The only vague parts of the foretelling were extra tidbits thrown in (that Jasmine was almost certain were only said to piss off and freak out the little brat for waking up and threatening the Spicer matriarch). So one could argue that _even if_ it's possible that the theorists are right, and that most prophecy is fake or propaganda to further ambitions, there seemed to be a good chance that Lady Spicer is a true fortune teller and was being honest with Jasmine about her place in the world.

"...But, that being said, I trust that she was being honest with me. There was no monetary exchange for the telling. She did it in return for me helping her the night before."

The maester sighed and gave a ponderous look. "I find that curious. The way you've taken an interest in various studies, I had thought you as the sort that prefered the physical realm to the mystical one."

Jasmine gave a teasing smile. "Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of the scientific method and critical thinking. But I consider myself more a skeptic by nature than anything. If I encounter the supernatural, I'm more inclined to believe it. Or, at least, believe that there's a science behind it somewhere that hasn't been understood yet."

"And you've experienced the supernatural yourself, hmm?" He challenged.

"Sure." She reclined into her seat and gave a grin at an old memory. "One time I got a TV possessed while using a ouija board. Well, that, or the funniest coincidence of all time. Not to mention the amount of precognition in my family. Not me, of course, but my mom, uncle Razi, and a couple of my cousins have it to varying degrees. So I'm pretty sure that's actually a genetic phenomenon. Hmm, maybe it'd be more common if people weren't so keen on killing witches and wiping it out of the gene pool?"

She prattled on, letting herself get carried _far_ away from the previous topic and onto the subject of genetics and ESP. It was easy to accomplish. The subject always fascinated her. The possibility that, not only were supernatural occurrences and ESP real, but that such things could be exercised to prosper over generations.

It was one thing to have a television become faulty for months after a ouija board _just so happened_ to spell out TV on half its answers; because, even after convincing her friends to remove subconscious variables with blindfolds and such for the game, one could _still_ insist it was just a coincidence. A spectacularly hilarious coincidence.

But when her mother would wake from horrible nightmares at the exact moment family members died… well, that was a game changer. Uncle Rahzad died in a car crash on the other side of the planet. Yet still, her mother felt it. It happened again and again as years went on. A sense of dread, confirmed by a death certificate. No matter how much Jasmine respected the scientific world and its insistence on only relying on testable experiments, she couldn't deny her mother's gift (though it was more like a curse) when it was stark obvious.

Those very ideas were touched on in her humoured ramblings. When the subject breached over into X-chromosomes, with an accidental touch of theories on warging and dragon riders, the maester felt compelled to interrupt.

"Switzer, if you would please." He raised his hand, palm out, begging her to stop. "Perhaps I should not have asked."

"Sorry?" Was all she could offer in her confusion at being halted on a one-track rant.

"Pay no mind, Switzer. Pardon my inquiries. I will not keep you any longer. I am sure you're in need of having your tea prepared."

"Right." She paused. A bit surprised at how well that side-tracked rambling went. "Thanks. I'll head over to the kitchens now." She bade her farewell and left the study.

* * *

Harwin

While she wasn't aware of it, once Jasmine left the study, Harwin gave a sigh of relief. He had become increasingly baffled by the woman. Sometimes the foreigner would appear to be a simpleton. Unaware of how to complete simple tasks or understand common words. Or would claim to not know or understand answers to his inquiries about her land.

Then moments like these would occur, where she would speak of numeric or scientific ideas with ease. Would go at length describing concepts and terms, half of which he had never heard of. The woman certainly appeared intelligent and educated in those moments. She had already acquired a basic understanding of Westerosi geography and politics. Had quickly memorized names of the Seven Kingdoms, the names and lords of their Great Houses, as well as several other noble houses. Yet, on request, claimed she could not describe the geography of her own land. The maester was able to gleen vague descriptions of land, history, and culture through his conversations with her. Though, if he inquired too deeply, the woman would freeze, seize her thoughts and attempt to maneuver away from the conversation. As though there was a danger in revealing her knowledge and history.

It was a strain to attempt to understand the way this woman thought. He had half a mind to suspect that her ideas were no more than nonsensical lunacy. Now, after listening to the woman try to make _reason_ of the higher mysteries, he could not help but feel utterly exasperated. Perhaps he should contact Maester Willifer at the Citadel for advice on the matter? Though that may prove to be troublesome should the conclave decide call on him.

He creased his brow, sighing deeply into his seat.

What he needed for now was a good, long drink of ale.

* * *

Jasmine

Well, it was official.

Clove and Oregano Tea was by far the most pungent thing she had ever tasted.

 _And that was only the first cup. Joyous._ She muttered in her head. The thought was coupled by a rumbling of pain in her abdomen, signalling just how much she needed the overbearing remedy.

Jasmine tried to push those complaints (and sharp aftertaste) aside as she brought her attention back to the conversation at hand. The washerwomen Rose, Nella, Wenda, Carellen, and Ivy all chattered amongst themselves as they carried their respective baskets of laundry and washing bats across the yard. The conversation seemed to have changed from the previous gossip given by the kitchen staff to the assortment of knights and squires currently practicing their swordplay on the other side of the yard.

Well, not so much conversation as just having the younger girls ogling the men and giggling all the while.

"-to be in those strong arms." Carellen sighed dreamily.

"You can keep Jason. Kemmett is far more handsome." Proclaimed Rose.

Jasmine turned to glance at the men in question. It was a little hard to make out each man there, with helmets and half-helms blocking view to their faces, but she could make out Jason Marbrand trading blows with a skinny boy in a soldier's uniform under the watch of the master-at-arms. There were some other soldiers practicing on their own. One of which included Kemmett beating down a fellow soldier with hard and quick blows. He was certainly skilled as a fighter. Had the battle scars to prove it, if the slash running from his right cheek to his ear was anything to go by. Though, if Jasmine had to be honest, it somewhat disturbed her to hear a twelve year old girl try to claim dibs on a thirty-something man.

"Nobody's keeping anybody." Ivy interrupted. "Jason is a lordling and Kemmett's got a woman in town."

"Nobody asked you." Rose bit back.

"You only say that because you're jealous Dareon never liked you." Carellen added.

"Yes he did!" Ivy argued.

"Did not!"

"Did!"

 _Then again, it's probably normal here._ Jasmine mused as she tuned out the girls' bickering. If the books were anything to go by, it's regular here for young girls to get hitched with older men. But it was creepy as all hell. Lawful pedophilia, really...

"Did not, liar!"

"I'm not a-"

...Though she did once hear that, in medieval times, those sorts of matches only happened with nobility, and for political reasons. Regular folk would just marry when they felt ready, usually around their teens or twenties.

"If the lot of you don't get a move on I'll clap you on the ears." Growled Wenda.

The girls hushed themselves, but the angry blushes on their faces showed that they weren't quite done yet with arguing over puppylove.

 _Heh, kids._

"Jasmine!" A boy's voice cried out across the yard.

 _Speaking of kids._ She thought as a gaggle of young boys ran towards her. Addam was leading the charge through rolls of padded armour. She had to hold back her laughter at the sight. He looked so roly-poly, it was adorable. Though she knew the proud little boy wouldn't take kindly to the woman cooing at how cute he appeared.

"Good morning, boys." She greeted the children as they caught up and started walking beside her.

"Good morning!" A few of the boys returned the call.

"We wanted to ask you something." Said Connor the stable boy.

"You never finished the tale of Ser Duncan and the Blackfyre Rebellion!" Addam pouted.

"I didn't?" She thought on it a moment. "Yes I did. Daemon Blackfyre tried to challenge Bloodraven to single combat, but was arrested instead. And Lord Butterwell had his castle burned down. I told you all of that."

"Yes. But what happened to Ser Duncan and Prince Aegon?" Addam asked.

"Who stole the dragon egg?" Connor added.

 _Oh, I did leave those out, didn't I?_ She recalled. "If I remember correctly, I believe Bloodraven rewarded Dunk with enough gold to buy back his tourney ransom. The story doesn't mention what he and Egg do afterwards. Probably have some more adventures until Egg grew up. As for the dragon egg, Bloodraven got a hold of it."

"How did he get it?" Another boy asked. Jasmine couldn't remember his name. He had a plain face, so it was a little hard to recall. Hamlet? Hamish? Something like that.

"He had someone climb up the privy to get it."

The boys gaped at her with bewildered expressions.

"I don't believe you. How can anyone fit inside a privy?" insisted Big Pate, one of the soldiers-in-training.

"Why would anyone _want_ to climb in a privy?" A younger boy named Ralf asked. Pinching his nose to mimic the action of a bad smell.

Jasmine chuckled at that. "Oh, there are some who can. Someone small, like a child, or…" she left it open ended for the kids to figure out.

"Or what?" Addam asked.

Then the little blond boy, nicknamed Hayhead, piped up. "The dwarves!"

She gave a cheshire grin at the boy. "Spot on!" she exclaimed, and ruffled his hair with a free hand. Leaving the boy giggling at the playful gesture.

The boys started chattering at the revelations. The reactions were mixed with delight and confusion at the way the story ended.

"You ought to get better at finishing stories." Addam decided. Crossing his arms and giving her a pointed look.

Jasmine rolled her eyes at the little lord. "Sure, sure. How about I finish my next story after you bother to finish packing?" She flicked his forehead then teasingly ruffled his hair. Causing the boy to blush.

Addam was to leave Ashemark in two days to become a cupbearer at Casterly Rock. His father, Damon, had been negotiating with Tywin Lannister over the opportunity during the tourney at Lannisport, and details had to be hammered out with the castellan since Tywin had gone back to King's Landing. But now things were settled, including the addition of one or two Lannister cousins becoming wards at Ashemark, and Addam and a small retinue were to make their way over soon and have everything become official.

"I have finished, mostly." He mumbled.

"Mhmm, sure you are. How about you run along now and turn that 'mostly' into a 'definite', sound good?" The boy nodded in assent. "Alright. Well I have to catch up with the others. I'll see all of you later, okay?"

The boys gave their goodbyes and Jasmine went out the castle gates to follow the washerwomen over to the nearby spring.

* * *

Author's note: Repeating this in case you missed it. This will be the last chapter I post for at least two months, due to spending November participating in NaNoWriMo. See you guys in December!

~WDW


	7. Chapter 7: George RR Martin Can Fuck Off

Author's note: And we're back! Hi everyone and welcome to the new year, glad to see you. Hope you've all had a wonderful time celebrating the holidays and relaxing during these cold, Winter months. But enough chatter, on to the new chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones. They belong to their rightful owners. Any characters you see here that are not from those stories are my own.

* * *

Chapter Seven: George R. R. Martin Can Fuck Off

Or as I like to call it: the catchphrase of any SI to this fandom.

* * *

Addam left at first light.

There was quite a crowd to see him off. All of his uncles, aunts, cousins, and grandparents were there. Children from the kitchens, stables, and the like that he'd befriended. Household knights, Septon Uller, Maester Harwin, the steward and other higher-ups in the castle. It was touching to see how many people were here to say goodbye.

Though the most heartbreaking of goodbyes came from little Darlessa. As Addam and Damon led the train out of the castle gates, Darlessa broke out into tears and tried to chase after them. Fortunately, Melissa swooped down in time and kept her daughter from running out under the horses. The two of them struggled in the grip for some time. Though, if you asked Jasmine, it may have had something to do with the tears welling at the edge of Melissa's own eyes. As Darlessa began breaking out of her mother's hold, Septa Merrella stepped in and took the girl from Melissa's arms. In that instant, Melissa found herself surrounded by friends and her good-sisters. Holding her steady as they tried to console her.

They probably understood her plight better than most. How many mothers are forced to see their sons off at eight years old? In Jasmine's world, that was a rarity; but, here, it was practically customary. Every highborn lady in this castle has seen a brother or cousin leave their home. They knew that, someday, they may have to say goodbye to their own children as well. Letting them go off to become cupbearers or squires. Networking and gaining friends for future political advantages, as Addam was doing now. That or wait until they're old enough to be sent off to the Citadel or the Wall or, worse, to war.

Jasmine could easily recall how lonely and sad her own mother had been when her kids left the nest to go to university or travel abroad. And that all happened when her kids were in their late teens. At eight year old? She'd probably have had a heart attack.

Though it wouldn't be all that bad for Addam. Melissa's good-sisters were telling her as much in hushed toned. Casterly Rock is only a two weeks ride away. Less, if you travel as a small group. He'll be well taken care of and would train under the best instructors. Best of all, he will be with family.

 _With family._

"Maester Harwin," she mumbled, just audible enough for the man beside her to hear. "Just so that I understand this clearly... how, exactly, are the Marbrand and Lannister families related? I get the connection with Lia, since she's a Lannister by birth, but how does Addam relate in all of this?"

"The two houses are close by blood and bond." The maester noted. "Lord Joseth's elder sister, Lady Jeyne, was wed to Lord Tytos and mother of the present Lord Tywin. As well, Lady Lia is good-sister to Lord Tywin. Which endears House Marbrand to the Lannisters in this generation as well as the last."

Jasmine's mind spun around that information. Feeling like a fly attempting to avoid the tangle of a poisoned web.

Though the fly ended up sticking onto one of those strings. One that screamed out a single thought:

" _You've got to be fucking kidding me!"_

"So, wait, you're telling me that Daven, Anders, and Damon are _cousins_ to Tywin Lannister?"

"That is correct."

"And Lia is J- Tywin's sister-in-law?"

"If that is your people's word for good-sister, then yes. As well, they too are cousins as her late father, Lord Jason, was brother to Lord Tywin."

Jasmine nodded in understanding; but, secretly, fought down the urge to do a facepalm. That was, that is just way too much information to take in.

Lia is Joanna's _sister_? Sister to _the_ Joanna Lannister! And married to a _first cousin_ of _Tywin_ fucking _Lannister_. Which makes her both aunt and first cousin once-removed to Jaime, Cersei and Tyrion. Which _also_ means that Jasmine is living in a castle full of Tywin's cousins.

Just, _HOW?_

Jasmine gave a small shudder at the thought as she watched as the last of the escort party ride passed the gate. Geez, she'll never get over _this_ little trinket of trivia. Really, there were no words to describe it.

No, wait, there is.

It's w _eird_. Just plain weird.

Somehow, someway, she'd ended up falling out of the frying pan, or hurricane in this case, and into the lion's den. -An abominable mash of idioms, but perfectly accurate as a pun with all things considered.- After all, these people are the _Lannister's_ cousins. Of all the people she could have ended up around, what are the odds?

 _Then again, if family trees in the Westerlands are as layers as this, maybe it was inevitable? There are plenty of Lannister cousins running around, after all. Chances are that they've married into all of their vassal houses at some point or another, right? Hell, you could go even further with that. When you get inter-kingdom marriages, like with Melissa and Ryella, chances are that all of the noble houses in Westeros are related. It'd make sense. After all, didn't Robert Baratheon manage to get dibs on the throne just for having a Targaryen grandmother, or something like that? Every highborn family seems to have some sort of blood or marital connection. It's all just a matter of how far on the six degrees of separation._

 _Only, in this case, I've somehow ended up two degrees off from the major Lannister players in the Game of Thrones. Which means that learning how to live and survive here just got to a whole new level of ridiculous._

The crowd began to part as the gates closed. People moving on to their daily routines. The ladies stayed behind, Melissa refusing to leave, the others staying by her side. Jasmine made an aborted move to go to them. Instead, heading out to see if the builders need a volunteer for the day.

She couldn't be around the others right now. She needed time. Time to think. This revelation has opened up a whole new can of worms she hadn't expected. It was one that needed careful deliberation.

* * *

The builders had enough hands for the day's work. So, instead, Jasmine got roped into peeling potatoes in the kitchen. Which was fine for her. Having a mindless task makes it easier to think.

It also gave better access to a cup of clove tea. So that was useful.

As she drank the medicine and worked her knife through the Sontaran-headed vegetables, she let her mind swirl around the issue at hand.

 _Okay, let's consider the full implications of a two-degree separation. Now, odds are, the families like to visit each other. With Damon and Addam on their way to Casterly Rock right now, that's a given. ...Man, Addam's going to_ live _with them. Poor kid. Let's hope that at least he and Jaime will get along alright. But, it still begs the question, would the Marbrands ever go to visit? If so, I'll just avoid going on the trip. Done._

 _But, if the Lannisters ever come to Ashemark, would I be able to avoid them? Not likely._

 _So… okay, there's got to be some contingency plans, right? How do you deal with a pride of Lannisters and not invoke their wrath? Alrighty, let's see:_

 _Step One: Never piss off Tywin. See the Reynes and Targaryens for reference._

 _Step Two: Never piss off Cersei. Too many examples to count. What, with her constant paranoid antagonising, sending people off to Qyburn for his experiments. Oh, and wildfire. If this Cersei does anything like Season Six, hoo-wee are we in for a deadly lightshow!_

 _...side note: don't go to King's Landing when this shit goes down._

 _Step Three: Be nice to Tyrion. The poor guy has a shit life and a shit upbringing and could use some compassion. Not to mention that he can be like his family if you piss him off._

 _Oh, and finally,_

 _Step Four: Find a way to pull off Step Three without screwing up Steps One and Two._

 _You know what. Maybe I should just opt for avoiding the scenario altogether for now? Ya, that's a good idea._

 _...I am so screwed._

"Switzer!" Gendel's voice bellowed over the sound of steam and clanking pots. Jasmine jumped at the booming voice, breaking from her train of thought and nearly dropping the vegetable in her hands. Once she caught her bearings, the startled woman gave a huff of embarrassed laughter; and took one last swig of her tea before heading over to see him.

She'd hoped to get use to Gendel's booming calls by now. Then again, from edged reactions around the room, it doesn't seem like anyone ever really gets use to it. Can't say she'd blame them. The head cook is an imposing figure for those who work in the kitchens. Broad shouldered, hairy as a bear, and had the sort of arms that could work a meat cleaver as easily as a knight holding a battle axe. Gendel was the sort of man whose presence could fill a room. If you went out of line or, heaven forbid, ruined one of his culinary creations, a single menacing stare from his black eyes was all it took to get most of the staff scurrying for safety.

Before Jasmine could ask what he needed, the bear-like man handed off a tray with two roasted chickens into her arms. "Lord Joseth's holdin' a meeting 'n the Oak Room. Randa'll show ye the way." He gruffed, gesturing off to the small group of maids carrying their own trays of bread, butter, cheeses, plates, and the like.

Breathing out the last dregs of nervous tension, Jasmine flashed him shy smirk. "Right away, sir!" she nodded with a playful half-curtsey.

That antic got the big man laughing. He squeezed a tightly gripped hand on her shoulder and gave her a broad grin. "Ye best watch yerself, woman. Don't think them knights would be happy with ye callin' e'ery man ye see a Ser." He goaded.

"Aww come on." Her voice gave a teasing whine. "I keep telling you, where I'm from, you can call any man sir. None of this knightly titles bullshit."

The cook bellowed another laugh. "Aye, as ye say. Then keep callin' me Ser, if it please ye. Won' see me complainin'." He gave her a pat on the back, strong enough that it pushed her forward to the maids as he made his way back to his dinner preparations. She huffed a laugh along with him as he passed by.

Some of the girls gave her a confused look. Probably because Gendel is usually only that affable when he's drunk. Though Jasmine could only give a playful shrug in return. The first time she called him 'sir' had been an accident out of habit. The intimidating man had been confused at first and thought she was insulting him. Though, after blundering over an explanation as to why she said it, he ended up finding the whole thing hilarious. Strange foreign mistranslations and all that. Though nowadays she just says it to get a laugh out of him. It's a silly little thing, but it turns out that stoking the big guy's pride can have its perks when it comes to getting easy jobs during kitchen duty. So, bonus.

* * *

She followed Randa and the rest of the maids through the long-side door of the Oak Room. It was a comfortably-sized meeting hall at roughly twenty-five by forty feet. It's walls decorated with colourful tapestries of men hunting deer, boars, pheasants, and other creatures through an Autumn wood. Opposing the second entry, the back wall held a large tapestry depicting the hunters feasting and drinking with dancing maids under a grand oak tree with blazing red leaves that seemed to flick with fire as they blew into the wind. It was a lovely work of artistry. Some of the best she's seen in the castle so far.

At the center of the room stood a large oak wood table spanning fourteen by five feet, with enough chairs to sit twenty people. Though today that number sat at thirteen. Lord Joseth sat at the head, flanked by his wife, Lady Sybelle, and the steward. Among them sat the lord's available sons, his brother Alesander, the maester, the castellan, two men whose faces Jasmine had seen about the castle, and three others she did not recognize.

Some amongst the thirteen acknowledged their presence as Jasmine and the maids went about setting food and drink at the table. The rest were too distracted to notice. Engrossed over reports and book keeping records. She caught flashes of conversation as she worked. Talk of wheat, barley, sheep and other supplies. The current supply of labour as farmers worked the harvest. There was concern of time, one of the unknown men insisted. They needed more people out of the mines and into the fields to get as much food harvested and stored as possible before the soon-approaching Winter.

That last bit of information pricked her ears to attention.

 _Winter? Hasn't it only been Autumn for a month now?_ It had to have been six weeks ago, at most. She'd visited the rookery when the white raven came to herald the end of Summer. So it definitely wasn't too long ago.

 _Then why are they talking about Winter now? Don't seasons here last for years? They had a ten year Summer in the books, with a two year long Autumn right after. So how does that make even a lick of sense?_

While putting down a plate and set of cutlery in front of Harwin, Jasmine flashed her eyes over a letter in the maester's hand. Some words jumped out at her. Citadel. Findings. Change. Season. Prepare. Winter.

 _Well, I'll be damned._

She stuffed the information to the back of her mind and switched her focus to the task at hand. That knowledge was something that needed to be looked over, when she had the time to spare for it.

Christ, as if she didn't _already_ have enough things to worry about!

* * *

By nightfall she'd exhausted herself to the bone. Finding every excuse possible to distract herself for the rest of the day. It was hard to concentrate on nothing. When they had gotten back from the Oak Room, Randa and the others had spread the news all about the kitchen. Everyone was talking about it. That, or talking about Damon and Addam's departure to Casterly Rock. Both of which would cause a clusterfuck of emotions and mental spin-around for Jasmine to hold herself steady.

What she needed right now was to just go to her room and straight to bed. Better to be unconscious than think about any of the events that unfolded today. It was all such a giant pain in the ass. So it was better to not bother with it now and deal with it after the information settled in her skull.

Jasmine left the kitchen and walked out into the court towards her chambers. The air was brisk and cool to the touch. Dark all but for starlight and the occasional torch. Until her eyes could adjust to the light, Jasmine walked along a stone half wall that served as a barrier between the open court and a supply of hay for the stables. Keeping her hands just grazing over the cold stone as she stumbled through the dark.

Halfway through the path Jasmine felt something catch at her foot. Her feet shuffled and tried to keep balance, but ultimately failed as she fell to the ground.

"Ah, fuck!" She yelled out. Hissing in pain against the cold, hard ground. She bent up a leg to leverage herself off of the ground, only to have it slip before she could try. She didn't bother trying again. Feeling herself lose energy as soreness from the day's work came catching up to her. "Great. That's just what I needed." She moaned. Her limbs went limp, using the last of her energy to adjust against the wall and use it as a headrest.

 _Relax._ Her instincts called. _You need to calm down._

 _Take a deep breath._ She breathed in and out once.

 _Good. Okay. Now keep going._ She closed her eyes. Focusing on her breathing. Letting the touch of brisk night air and the smell of horse and hay fill her lungs.

 _That's it. Your body needs to rest, that's all._ Her muscles relaxed with each breath. Smoothing her body out in waves.

 _Give it a few minutes. You'll be able to get up then._

A deep breath out, and the breathing went shallow. Her eyes fluttered open. Turning a cool gaze towards the night sky and its ever-growing glimmer of starlight.

 _In all fairness,_ she thought passively, _this view is probably the one good thing about living in this world._

In Westeros, stars covered the skies in a blanket of light. Showering the sky like mist over a waterfall. At home the sky had only the faintest freckles of light, coloured instead by orange-purple clouds drifting through. It had it's own beauty, but it didn't compare to this.

She stayed that way, watching the stars. Faint hues of colour mingled or stood apart, depending on the cluster. The were so many stars. So much to see. Though, sad to admit, there were none that she recognized. No dippers or Orion. No Polaris. In its beauty the stars offered their own form of mockery. A reminder that she was an alien under an alien sky.

Back on the earth the wind blew in strength. Carrying the cold with it and wrapping her in a chilling embrace. Jasmine shuddered. Breaking away from the sky to wrap herself deeper in her arms.

She hated the cold. Hated that Winter is coming. That will be here so _soon!_ It doesn't even make sense! First the books say it lasts for years, and then has it change up after a few _weeks?_ It was such a stupid, nonsensical idea. Oh sure, sounds fun for a plot, but who would ever want to live here? Bad enough to have to live close to the Lannisters. Now she has to worry about fucking Winters and ridiculous seasons? How do people even survive in this level of chaos? It's a stupid planet with stupid seasons and George R. R. Martin can fuck off for all I care!

"Is your sailor bothering you again?" A voice joked from beside her.

Jasmine jumped from the ground. Turning her head to spot Anders standing a few feet away. A teasing smile on his face.

"What?" She squeaked in confusion.

"Your sailor. Is he troubling you?" He asked again.

Jasmine responded with a squirt of her eyes and a noise of confusion. Wait. Had she said all of that out loud?

That expression only made the young knight laugh. "It's no secret. There are others whom have mentioned you've taken habit to curse the name of some sailor." Anders walked over and stepped onto the wall. Flipping himself over and landing onto a haystack.

Jasmine stared at him wide eyed, mind reeling. How much of that had he heard? How much of that rant was said out loud? But, instead of asking, she watched him warily as he propped his head up with a crooked arm and flashed a charming grin.

"So tell me. What has this accursed sailor done to invoke such contempt?"

 _Other than write this planet into existence?_ She thought to herself.

Perhaps he hadn't heard it all? Suppose that makes for a close save? Though the man - _Tywin's cousin,_ she reminded herself- kept his eyes on her. Waiting to hear her answer.

So, instead of that train of thought, she sighed and gave a shrug. "Nothing, It's something stupid."

Anders gave a knowing smirk. "I much doubt that. Speaking as a married man, when a woman speaks that way about a particular man, it's usually because he has wronged her in a deep and cruel way."

"Ya, no. It's nothing like that." She waved off. It was _definitely_ not meant the way he was implying. "Wait, are you saying that Lia's talks like that about you?" Does that woman even _know_ how to swear?

"Of course not, I am in every way a gentleman" He answered with a flourish. "And you are evading the topic at hand." He pointedly remarked.

Jasmine rolled her eyes at the boast, but allowed him to go back to his questions. "Okay, you're… somewhat right. It's not something he did to me, not purposefully anyways, but, how do I put this?"

 _Ya, how DO I put this?_

"Alright. So, at that meeting you had today, everyone was talking about it being Winter soon. But, in the books... I mean, in Martin's books describing Westeros, he always gave the impression that this place was so… magical. Fantastical. A country that could have decade-long Summers and Winters that last a generation. But, instead, it turns out that your seasons are so... ( _ridiculous? all over the place?_ ) so short. It's confusing!"

" _That_ is what's troubling you?" The knight snickered at the bizarre confession. "Hardly worth such a degree of contempt, Switzer. Though, if it would appease you, we did have a rather harsh Winter the year before last that spanned three years."

"Uh-huh. Right." She turned to him and gave the slightest tease of a smirk. "And how about last year, hmm?"

His grin dropped as he considered that. "That year held each season."

"And this year…"

"...Will do the same." He admitted.

"Mhmm. That's what I thought." She mumbled absentmindedly. She sat herself on the wall. Turning her gaze back to the stars above.

Anders gave her a skeptic look. "You cannot expect me to believe that your kingdom is any different."

"Course it is." She muttered without much thought. Then paused, hearing what she was saying. She had just stumbled on a topic with far too many eggshells to handle. Of course their worlds were different. Earth moved on an axis that stayed nearly constant at 23.5 degrees. That tilt and the path around the sun were the reasons that her world has seasons the way it does.* With solstices and equinoxes dividing the year in quarters, giving each season its fair share of time.

But then there was Planetos. A place where seasons could move like Mercurian days one decade and Saturnian the next. This world ran on some secret magic she didn't understand. Perhaps the seasons were caused by R'hllor and the Great Other battling for control, not unlike the Zoroastrian gods of old. Her most humourous theory was that powerful creatures lived in the centre of the world with the power to twist the axis. Speeding or slowing its turn at will. It sounded completely bonkers; but, seeing as she appeared to be living in a fictitious universe, there wasn't much point in trying to base this world's logic on her reality.

"Actually, forget what I said. It's not that different after all." She kept her eyes glued to the sky. Hoping her face looked as neutral as she'd hoped.

From her left she could hear the young knight sigh. "You are a strange woman, Switzer."

"Says the man snuggled in a pile of hay." She dismissed with humour.

"It's straw, not hay." He corrected. "Furthermore, it's quite comfortable. You should try it."

Her view of the stars became skewed as a handful of straw landed on her hair and covered the top half of her face. She could hear a guffaw of Anders' laughter as she blew away pieces from her eyes and brushed the larger straws from her head. Glancing at him, she found the knight's form was shaking with laughter as he hung off the edge of the pile.

Jasmine tsked at the sight. "Brat." she muttered under her breath. Only to switch to a mischievous smirk as she stood up and gave the knight a quick tug, making him fall to the dirt.

Anders made an oomph sound as he landed on his back, and groaned as he sat up and rubbed his head. "That was entirely unnecessary." He complained.

"Ya, but it was still funny." She quipped. Taking a small step onto the wall, she flopped herself onto the bed of straw and gave a sigh. "You're right, it is pretty comfortable." She remarked through closed eyes, relaxing herself deeper into the pile. From her left she could hear Anders mutter something under his breath, followed by the sound of him getting up and brushing dirt from his clothes.

All sound rested for moment as Anders lingered where he stood.

"There is one thing that I don't understand." He remarked. "Why does it trouble you so to find that we can have short seasons? Most would pray for a short Winter, yet you seem disappointed."

Jasmine opened her eyes. Staring into the starlight as she considered that observation. "I'm not… disappointed." She began. Honestly, she hated the cold. She'd never want a long winter. Certain not one that lasts for years. That being said, a part of it still bothered her. About as much as it bothered her to learn about his family tree. Though she isn't entirely sure _why_ that is. So what could she say to explain it?

She thought on it a moment, attempting to transform feeling into words. "It's more that this place is... different from what I had expected. It's unsettling."

"Why unsettling?" He asked.

She paused as she considered that. Turning to him slowly, and biting her lip as she felt the emotion bloom into meaning. An epiphany rose to the surface. "Because it means that I understand less of this world than I'd thought. That there's still a lot that I have to learn." She averted her eyes and clenched at the straw below as her true concern came out. "That there's so much of this world that I can't predict for."

Turning her eyes back to him, she found Anders crouched at eye level on the straw. Eyes reflecting a look of sincerity that hadn't been there before. "I understand your concern, Switzer. You have only come here in the last few months, and it has been hard to grow accustomed to our ways." He put a reassuring hand on her arm. "But I believe that you will find a way to change that. Have patience. In time you will be able to build a home here. Of that I am sure."

Jasmine gave a slight sigh and offered the knight a small smile. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Anders."

"You're welcome, Switzer." Then he offered his hand. "Shall we retire for the evening?"

"If it's all the same for you, I'm going to stay out here for a while longer. The stars are nice out tonight."

He nodded in return. "Then I shall leave you to your stargazing." He got up and sat up on the wall. "Good night, Switzer."

"Good night, Anders."

She watched as Anders twisted off to the other side of the wall and left for the inside of the castle. Once his footsteps faded, she allowed her smile to fade as well.

Honestly, at this point she wasn't sure what to make of Anders or his family. He and Lia seemed like kind people. Joseth, Daven, and Damon were… rough around the edges, but she liked them well enough. But they're _Lannisters_. Well, close relatives, at least. It shouldn't have made a difference, but that knowledge just seemed to cloud over everything.

Then there was the conversation itself. A nice little heart to heart; but, mostly, it helped to put the situation into a better perspective. That this world is more unpredictable than she'd thought. Or, at least, that there is more to this world than she had realized.

Then again, it _is_ an entirely different planet. One complete with it's own histories and cultures. She had only been exposed to two years worth of history through the eyes of others, half of whom aren't even alive yet. It never had to deal with, say, the lives of Tywin's cousins or seasonal changes in the off years. Those years are more or less a flurry of unknowns. All that today proved was that there is so much unaccounted for. So much that she _can't_ prepare for.

She plopped back down onto the straw and breathed out a lung-full of tension. Watching the air cloud with the slightest hint of the coming cold. Letting her thoughts float with it as it drifted into the night.

 _If I can't prepare for it, I'll just have to find a way to work around it. Somehow._

* * *

Note:

*Turns out that there's more to seasons than what I initially wrote here, and it might actually ring true for Planetos. If you're interested, I made a video about it on youtube. Just add this to the slash: watch?v=FaDb21En5DU


	8. Chapter 8: Better off Freezing

Author's Note: You know, the trouble with writing a 25 year-long story is having a bunch of ideas for the future and wanting to skip ahead to get to the good stuff, but knowing you have to stick with chronology so that it all makes sense in the end.

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones. They belong to their rightful owners. Any characters you see here that are not from those stories are my own.

* * *

Chapter Eight: Better Off Freezing

Winter came faster than expected. Within a week snow started to fall on the mountain. Light coatings of snow peppered the roofs and parapets and every morning the gardens were tinged with frost. Another week passed and those light coats grew thicker and would not fade under the sunlight. Like the rains of Autumn, each day brought more snow than the last. People began avoiding the courtyards, keeping to the perimeter of stone hallways as they tried to avoid the cold. Jasmine was no exception. Lacking in winter-ready clothes and an aversion to the cold, she spent as much time as possible avoiding the outdoors. Keeping herself occupied more often with the ladies of Ashemark or volunteering with indoor chores than anywhere else.

This morning she was spending her time in the rookery. Changing the beddings of raven cages as the black birds squawked and pecked at her hands.

"Oh hush, you." She waved off at another attempt to prick at her fingers. The raven gave an indignant cry that almost sounded like it was trying to repeat back the word 'hush'. It was funny and somewhat strange to hear a non-parrot try to speak. Jasmine was almost tempted to try and make them say corn or snow like Mormont's bird would do.

' _How_ _does_ _a bird manage to make those sounds?'_ She wondered.

Near the window she heard a flap of wings as all the birds cried out at once. She turned towards the sound to find a new raven perch on the ledge.

"Well hello there." She walked over to the window and bent down, sticking out her arm across the bird's belly. It looked at the action curiously, then hopped onto her arm. The new raven gave a small squawk as Jasmine stood up straight and forced the bird to adjust its balance. As it wobbled, Jasmine spotted a bit of parchment attached to its left leg.

"What's that you got there, little guy?" She cooed. The raven didn't give any sort of answer, and instead distracted itself with a bit of self-grooming. Jasmine slid the parchment out of its casing and inspected it. It was locked by a seal of golden wax, fixed in the image of a lion.

' _A letter from Casterly Rock.'_ She thought instinctively. There was a temptation to open the letter. Though she'd already been scolded once before for doing that. It's a useful ploy for spies, not for message deliveries.

Jasmine walked over to an empty cage designated for ravens of Casterly Rock and encouraged the bird inside.

"I'll get a return message for you later, how about for now I get you some corn, eh?"

"Corn! Corn!" The bird cried. All around the room the ravens began crying out for corn.

' _Holy hell, they do say it!'_

And, judging by the noise, seems that it works about as well as saying the dreaded W-word when dealing with dogs.

"Corn! Corn! Corn!"

"Alright, alright, hold your horses!" She laughed at the black birds. Still they cried for food. Hardly satisfied even as she gave them each a handful. "Man, you're a greedy bunch, aren't you?" The raven in front of her only looked at her curiously, then turned back to its treat. She snickered again. Setting down the pail and dusting her hands off from the feed.

While the birds distracted themselves with food, Jasmine took the opportunity to finish up with the bedding changes. Once that was done, she was free to head over to the maester, message in hand.

"The ravens have been taken care of." She informed the maester. "Also, a new one stopped by with a message." She handed the message over to him, then stayed in the room as he broke the seal and read the contents.

"There is a new Princess of Dorne." Harwin announced as he read over the bit of parchment. "Prince Doran Martell and Lady Mellario have borne a daughter."

"I suppose congratulations are in order?" Jasmine commented, though the maester didn't seem to hear her.

Doran's daughter. Arianne. She remembered her from the books, if somewhat vaguely.

' _So she was as old as Viserys, eh? Guess that makes sense for their secret betrothal.'_

Jasmine looked at the note, only to spot something peculiar. "Is that a second sheet of paper?"

"Yes." The man answered, though there was something hard about his voice. He made no further comment for some time, reading over the second letter once again. "It appears that snows are falling much heavier on the shore than here in the mountains. Lord Damon and his retinue will remain at Casterly Rock until it is safe for them to make the return journey."

He rolled up the parchment and placed it in a hidden pocket. "I will need to inform Lord Marbrand of this news." He thought it over a moment. "Lady Melissa will be in the Willow Room. Perhaps you can inform her as well?"

"Sure, I can do that. I was already planning to go there after the rookery."

"Wonderful." He smiled as he stood and left the room.

' _Strange.'_ She thought to herself. ' _That seemed to cheer him up.'_

* * *

The Willow Room, also nicknamed the Women's Room, was the designated lounge area for the ladies of the castle. Here young girls learned to stitch and sew or learn pleasantries under the watchful eyes of Septa Merella. Their older counterparts would distract themselves in other ways. Reading by the fire or gossipping amongst themselves. A high harp stood in the back right corner for anyone interested in playing it, and there was a writing desk a few paces off for those wanting to practice their calligraphy or write poetry.

The women's room had a soft ambient to it. It's interior walls were made of bluestone and a light, yellow-coloured wood. It's large windows were currently shuttered by heavy green drapes to keep out the cold. On the wall opposite the windows was a long tapestry depicting a stream running it's course first down the mountain, then under a willow tree, then through a Springtime meadow. Whomever had designed this space, they most definitely captured the intended atmosphere.

With it being Winter, it seemed as though just about everyone was visiting the Willow Room today. Most of the young girls were practicing their stitching, being guided by both the Septa and Ryella. Lady Sybelle was by the fire, reading to Alysanne. The rest were broken off into small groups, talking amongst themselves. Lia didn't seem to be in the room, though. Which rode away any tension as Jasmine walked inside.

"Good day, Jasmine" Ryella greeted her softly. "I did not think you would be joining us this morning."

"I finished things off earlier than planned." Jasmine answered with a light shrug, walking over and taking a seat beside her.

"I'm glad. Does this mean we can continue with our lesson?"

A part of Jasmine's mood dropped and she stifled the urge to groan. "Do we have to?" She asked, her voice leaking into a whine.

Ryella bit her lip as she giggled. "Come now, if you don't learn, how will you be able to finish your cloak?"

' _By convincing someone else to do it.'_ The thought nearly slipped off her tongue, but she knew it'd be pointless to ask. Ryella was determined to teach her, and wasn't about ready to give her an easy way out.

"Perhaps our friend would rather freeze?" Margaery piped up from her circle of chatter.

Jasmine rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out to the smirking woman, who laughed in turn at the rude gesture.

"Switzer, do restrain yourself." The Septa lectured in a whip-crack tone. "Such childish behaviour is unbecoming."

Jasmine snorted a laugh and gave the woman a salute. "Yes, ma'am."

She flashed a quick grin at Margaery, then stopped, noticing Melissa standing behind her. ' _Drat, I almost forgot'._ "Oh, one second." She mumbled to Ryella before leaving her seat.

"Hey, Melissa," she greeted as she approached the circle "a raven came in earlier from Casterly Rock. Damon says he will be staying there for a while."

Melissa's face twisted in concern. "Stay?" she whispered. "How long will he remain there?"

"Just until the snow clears up. Maester Harwin mentioned that the weather's getting pretty bad there, so they have to wait it out."

The lady frowned at that news. Clenching her arms at her sides and rolled her shoulders and back into a stiff position. "If that is what he believes is best." She remarked definitively, though it edged with frustration.

Jasmine was unsure of how to continue the conversation. Standing awkwardly around the now quiet group of women, some instinct advised her to retreat. She took that internal advice. Treading softly away from the group and into a corner, where she could grab some fabric out of a chest of furs.

"So…" She slid back into her chair. Hoping to tamper down on the awkward tension emanating from the group. "Where were we?"

* * *

The two busied themselves in the day's lesson. Ryella guided Jasmine through techniques on how to work with fur as opposed to wool, as well as ways to bring them and other materials together into Winter-reliable clothing. Unfortunately, the lesson wasn't turning out to be much of a success.

"I'm not sure I would even donate this to someone, much less be able to wear it, myself." Jasmine sighed, inspecting the cloak on both sides. It was turning out to be pretty shoddy work full of haphazard cuts and stitches. Not to mention that the measurements looked like they were off. The odds of it fitting her seemed slim.

"Keep practicing." Ryella encouraged. "Your stitching will improve with time."

"Right." She remarked half-heartedly, propping her chin into a fur-gripped hand. "In the meantime I'll be spending the rest of Winter stuck inside the castle."

Ryella nodded in understanding. Pondering over her friend's disappointment. "There are ways to occupy oneself in Winter. We can teach you to play the harp, or, if you would prefer the lute, Alyn or Margaery may offer you lessons. There are books, as well. I could read to you _The Seven Pointed Star_. That is our holy book, should you wish to learn about The Seven."

' _Well, that sounds like a boring idea. On the other hand…'_ "The harp might be fun." She mused. "It's been awhile since I've played music. Not that I was the greatest at it, but it was fu-"

"It seems you lack talent in most things." Melissa's voice intruded on the conversation. Both of the other women turned their heads to the lady. Jasmine's mind caught off guard in processing Melissa's remark.

"What?"

The lady was half-turned between her circle and the seamsters. Glowering down at Jasmine as her eyes traced over -done cloak. "I was merely remarking that it's _astounding_ how a women can be so utterly incapable at accomplishing the simplest of tasks."

Conversations seemed to trail off all around them. Everyone's eyes turned to their corner of the room.

Jasmine flinched at the comment. At a loss for words, with a singular thought of ' _where the fuck did that come from?'_

"Melissa!" Margaery gasped. "That's uncalled for."

"Yet it is true." She gave a flippant wave of her hand. "We cling to this foreigner as though she were some rare treasure. Ignoring the truth that she is little more than a talentless, insipid lowborn whom has no place in our company!"

Some voices murmured quietly at that remark. Jasmine bit her lip, feeling a blush creep up her face. Mortified at the accusation, yet felt shame that there was a truth to it.

"That's cruel, Melissa." Ryella half-whispered, her voice shaking. Still, she stood from her chair and moved between them. "You should apologize to Jasmine."

Melissa sneered. "For stating a truth?"

"For taking your frustrations out at her. You say these things out of anger that your husband has chosen to stay at Casterly Rock."

That comment got the whole room going. Everyone was reacting to the fight and the news in some amount of shock or anticipation. Meanwhile, Melissa's eyes flashed with outrage.

"Chosen? _Chosen?_ Are you suggesting that he _wished_ to be gone from me!"

"I am not saying that." Ryella's hand shot up, palms facing Melissa as though to calm her. "I understand your pain, but that doesn't-"

"Oh, what could _you_ possibly understand. If it were your husband, I'm sure you would be _glad_ he was gone! It's not as though you'd have anything to miss."

' _The fuck?'_

Just like that, the room went quiet again. Everyone in the room became tense. Ryella's arms had gone slack. Her shoulders jerked in small fits as her voice hitched and hiccupped and… was she crying?

Ryella broke out into a run and straight out the door. Sobs echoing through the hall as she fled.

"MELISSA PIPER!" Everyone jumped at once, their attention now fixated on Lady Sybelle as she strode her way across the room. She stopped, nose to nose with Melissa. "A word. Now!" She snapped. Lady Sybelle turned her heels and walked out the door. Melissa hesitated. Then, eyes roaming through the room and catching their looks, she too turned and followed after her.

The room stayed quiet for a few precious seconds after the two had left. Their steps echoed and mingled with Ryella's distant cries. Then, as they too faded, the Willow Room released a breath as though it were a single entity.

Shy voices whispered. Then grew. Each person weighing their thoughts on the fight and gain footing on the tension in whatever way made sense for them and allowed them to move on with the day.

' _Okay, but seriously, what the fuck just happened?!'_

* * *

The stallion pawed its hoof merrily as Jasmine worked a brush through his coat. Removing tangles and making his coat shine under the candlelight. The lighting would have improved if the stable door was open, but she was freezing as it was and didn't need the added discomfort. At least there was one advantage to working at the stables, horses are warm enough to fend off the cold that came from being outside the castle walls.

"So this is where you've hidden yourself?" A voice teased from the door of the stall.

Focused deep into her work, Jasmine shrugged off the comment. "Hey, you ought to appreciate the help, kid." She turned to acknowledge the stableboy. "And if you got a better idea on how to get work done around here without freezing my ass off then by all means you ca-" - _aaaand that's not Connor._

Her eyes glanced down and up the tall, thin figure of the person before her. Waves of long, blond hair, much different from the red haired lad she had spent the morning with, cascaded down a woman's frame. The woman's arms were crossed, a finger curved and tapped slowly. Further up, seeing one another eye to eye, Jasmine was faced with a half-amused expression. Eyebrows raised, and the slight tug of a smirk framed by laugh lines.

"My lady," Jasmine dropped her brush and rushed into a curtsey. Head bowed to hide her red-face embarrassment. "I'm so sorry! I thought you were someone else."

"Indeed." Lady Sybelle responded coolly.

Jasmine shifted awkwardly where she stood. Risking a glance towards to woman before her. "H-how may I be of service, my lady?" She fumbled for words.

The woman gave a teasing smile. "I came to check on you. You have not visited the Women's Room for several days now. Your absence has been noted."

"I've… just been busy, that's all." Jasmine attempted to assure. "Connor needed help, with his father ill and all, so I offered to come here to-"

"Hide?"

" _I wasn't hidi-_ " The sentence cut off, frozen by the lady's pointed look. _Daring_ the young woman to deny it. "Er, what I mean is…" Lady Sybelle's finger tapped away. Waiting on an answer. ... _Ah, crap._ Her shoulders dropped. Defeated. "...what else was I supposed to do?"

"Not run from a quarrel," The lady answered "and mend it before it festers."

' _Ya, right.'_ Memories flashed through her eyes. A knife, the sound of screams, the sight of bloodied fingers. Her eyes drifted to the left, settling on the stallion as it's body expanded and contracted with each breath. "In my experience, running tends to be the easiest way to avoid trouble." She murmured. Silently matching her breath with his.

Lady Sybelle walked into the stall. Her hand reached forward and lifted Jasmine's chin so that she was forced to renew eye contact. Her expression had softened. "To avoid a quarrel, yes, running is the easier way. However, that does not mean it is the correct course of action."

"I guess…" Jasmine knew there was a truth to that, under layers of doubt; but she didn't even understand half the fight, let alone know of a way to fix it.

"Oh, my," the lady gasped suddenly, her left hand holding Jasmine's right. "Your hands, child, they're cold as ice!"

Jasmine flinched her hand away. "It's nothing."

"Nonsense." She tutted. "Come inside, Switzer. I will have one of the servants fetch us a pot of tea."

"Really, you don't have to-"

"One's pride is not worth losing a finger to frostbite." The House Matriarch cut through her protests. Flashing a stern gaze. "Furthermore, we had not finished our discussion." Lady Sybelle turned on her heels and walked out of the stall. "Come along, Switzer." She called over her shoulder. Knowing full well that the woman had no choice but to accept the command.

Resigned, Jasmine gave the stallion one last pat and followed the lady out into the cold.

' _...Somehow tea now sounds more menacing than a relief.'_

* * *

"Thank you, Randa. You are dismissed." Randa curtseyed and left Lady Marbrand's salon. Leaving the two women to their own devices. Lady Sybelle swirling milk and sugar into her tea. Jasmine sitting anxiously and discreetly warming her hands together.

"The tea would better suit your need for warmth." The lady noted, never taking her eyes off her own cup.

"Oh, right." She robotically took the second cup in her hands, though she was sure that her nervousness bled through. Over the clinking of spoons, the lack of conversation was beginning to weigh down on her. "So… how has Ryella been?"

"Ryella is in good spirits." The lady took a sip of her tea. "She and Melissa have spoken and settled their differences."

' _Of_ _course_ _they did.'_ She eyed the woman across from her. Wondering how much of that result was genuine and how much had been a product of this woman's interventions?

"I'm glad to hear that." ' _Wait, I shouldn't have said that.'_ She was falling into the trap, wasn't she?

"Yes. As I feel you will be once you reconcile with Melissa."

' _And_ _there_ _it is!'_

She took a sip from the cup. Hoping to think of _some_ way around the topic. "If I am to confess, my lady, I'm not entirely sure what needs to be said."

Lady Sybelle eased into her chair. Rolling her shoulders back and opening herself to the younger woman. "No words come to mind? You have had eight days worth of time to think over this event. Have you not?"

"Well, sure, however I still can't understand why she became angry so suddenly. Things were fine earlier."

The lady smirked into her cup. As if silently laughing to her own joke.

"All was _fine_ earlier?" She mimicked humorously "There was _nothing_ you said to anger her?"

"Well, ya. Yes, I mean. It's not as though I've ever said anything rude to her." Honestly, she was feeling pretty offended by this whole line of questioning. "All we talked about that day was that message from Casterly Rock. After that I spent the rest of my time with Ryella."

"What, precisely, did you tell her?"

' _Where is she getting at with all of this?'_ "...That Damon is going to stay a while at the castle until the weather clears up."

Lady Sybelle nodded slowly, but there was still something about her expression that Jasmine didn't like.

"I don't get why you're asking me this. I didn't do anything wrong. I know she's your good-daughter, and you want to help; but all I did was deliver a message, and then she over-reacted. There's nothing else to it."

That remark was answered by a disappointed sigh. Followed by Lady Sybelle sitting forward as she returned the teacup to the table and laced her fingers together on her lap. "My dear girl," she began "have you ever journeyed through mountains in Winter?"

"Can't say I have, my lady."

"Then that explains your ignorance." Jasmine twitched at that, but was cut off before she could retort the insult. "The mountains are treacherous to journey through. There are steep cliffs and loose stone. Wild lions and thieves. If they do not kill you, an unsure foot will. This is true, regardless of the season.

"Come Winter, the dangers are far worse. Snows may trick the eye into believing there is stone where there is only air. Trails are marred with patches of ice. Blizzards will blind you and its winds throw you from the mountainside. In short, traversing through mountains in Winter is foolhardy. Given the choice, it is best to wait until the season has passed."

"I don't understand. How is that any different from what I told Melissa?"

"Switzer, my son must wait until _Spring_ to return home. That will mean _months_ or _years_ until we will see him again. Melissa is already enduring the loss of her first-born. A pain you, as a maid, cannot understand. The last her heart needs is to be callously informed that she may not see her husband for years as well."

Oh. _Oh._

"… that hadn't occurred to me."

"That much is clear." She rose up from her seat. "Which is why it is important that you speak with Melissa now to apologize and put an end to the bad blood between you."

 _Wait._ "Does it have to be right now?" Lady Sybelle shot her a _look_ , and any attempt to protest shriveled up and died on the spot. "…On second thought, 'now' sounds like a _great_ time!"

* * *

 _I was better off freezing with the horses._ Jasmine thought to herself as she pined over a cup of mulled wine. Memories of snide comments and guilt complexes circling around in her mind. It was all so painfully stupid and pointless, yet the thoughts wouldn't cease whispering in her mind's ear.

Beyond those whispers, she became vaguely aware of the sound of a door opening and steps padding in. A clink of chains rustled as the feet stopped in their motions.

"Switzer…" Maester Harwin's voice quavered with bewildered hesitation "may I ask _why_ you are in my chambers… and on my bed?"

From across the room, Jasmine sat languid on the mattress. One leg swayed lazily across the stone floor while the other propped up an arm. Hand dangling, with a slip of effort to hold onto the cup, and nothing else. At the sound of his question, the woman huffed and her head rolled to face the door.

"Y'outta get your mind outta the gutter, old man. I gotta…" glazed eyes gave the man a once-over. "You know, you're not really 'old' old. You're, like, teenaged-parent old. Still too old for me, though." She paused. Taking a sip out of her cup.

The maester took cautious steps toward the bed. "Perhaps you have had too much wine this evening?"

The woman huffed in annoyance. Eyes fixed on the dark liquid. "Didn't exactly get much choice, now did I? What else was I s'ppose to drink? _Water?_ Heh. Stupid bugs are gonna kill me."

The comment gave him pause. "Pardon?"

A once-limp arm waved carelessly in his direction. "Tell ya about it later. ...why _didn't_ I get a cup of tea?"

" _Switzer,_ " The maester's tone grew impatient " _why are you in my chambers?_ "

"Huh? Oh, right, right." Her body swung to face him, body swaying side to side. "I've got a bone to pick with you."

"Bones? What on earth of you speaking of, woman? You're drunk. Go to your room, get some rest." He pleaded for her to listen.

" _Fuuuuuuuuuucking hell!_ " She groaned. Body giving up control and flopping onto the bed. "It's just an expression, _Jesus Christ!_ " The dangling leg kicked upwards. "S'not what I meant! _You,_ " an arm reached up and pointing in his general direction "screwed me over and got me in trouble."

The man paused. Then, there came the slightest wisp of a laugh. "Is this regarding your quarrel with Lady Melissa?"

" _YES!_ " Her arm flopped down. " _Finally!_ So you admit it!"

"There is nothing to admit. I've done no wrong."

"Bull _shit_ 'done nothing'! _Heh!_ You told me to talk to her and she got mad at me. Then her _mom_ got mad at me." she whined. "Then _I_ had to apologize, but she's _still_ mad at me. And I'm _cold_! Everybody said to drink, but this stuff tastes weird; but I _gotta_ keep drinking it or else…

" _THAT'S_ why I didn't have tea! It takes too long!" Her head bent upwards, eyes peering over her chest. "What were we talking about, again?"

From the way he was holding himself, Jasmine guessed that he looked exasperated, at best. Yet he sighed and indulged her. "Lady Melissa is angry with you."

"That's right! You set me up and she killed the messenger! Er, well, not killed. More like, bitched about my life choices." the woman mumbled into a quiet whine. "It's not my fault I'm stuck here."

The maester sighed and walked to the edge of the bed. Patting her knee empathetically. "Now, now. Perhaps it would be best if we talk about this in the morning? Have a warm cup of tea, and a good night's rest. You will feel much better afterwards."

Jasmine made an indignant sound, and made no effort to move.

"And y'know what makes this whole thing so stupid?" She mumbled. "I did all the right things, y'know? Went to school. Studied hard. Got a degree in something fun n' useful to society. And what happen? I wind up _here_. What use is that degree now, eh? Worthless! That's what! So now I gotta sit around and get told off by some glorified trophy wife that I've got no value to society, or however the hell she put it."

"There now, no amount of education is worthless." The maester consoled. "I'm sure you can find a way to apply your knowledge into useful labour."

"Oh _really?_ " Her head poked up again, swaying weakly in spite of her attempt to overpower his logic. "Who do you know that would hire me to lay out street designs and flood-water drainage? Eh?"

The maester paused, pondering over an answer. "That task is given to masterbuilders. Though, for one to be recognized as a masterbuilder, one would need to be…"

"Lemme guess, a man of good standing?"

"An apt choice of words." He noted.

"Ya. And literal on the 'man' part, I bet."

"That is true, yes."

"Ya, ats'what I thought." she groaned. "I'm not surprised. Half the time I try to talk with the builders I get brushed aside. Cuz _apparently_ a vagina makes you less credible in this world."

 _'Maybe I shoulda taken engineering instead. Who knows, could've been this world's Leonardo Da Vinci. Wouldn't that have been somethin'? ...I wonder if anyone would take me seriously if I became an inventor? Though I'd have to actually_ _invent_ _something to make money. Maybe I could pick up some other skill in the meantime? But I suck at girly things. Wonder if there's somethin' that won't get me sectioned off from the 'boys club' mindset. Let's see here...'_

As her mind continued to wander on that train of thought, her body was pulled upright and off the bed. Jasmine stumbled off her feet and crashed into Harwin's chest. Curses and mutterings falling on deaf ears. Though the jerking motions somewhat broke her from her thoughts.

"Hey, hey, hey! Easy there Harley." She slurred. He said something in response, but she could hardly hear him; momentarily mesmerized as his face seemed to grow red and redder the more he talked. In a loss of balance, her eyes fell to the floor. She found her feet at last, though they were moving closer to the door. "Hey, hey, wait, wait. I gotta talk to you about something!"

"Whatever it is you wish to say can wait until _tomorrow_." His body heaved as he pushed her closer to the door. "Now _leave_ , you drunken sot."

"No, no, not yet." She pushed herself forward and twisted her body. A slam of her back leaned against the door, blocking her removal. "Listen, listen. Now… I know yer angry. But I gotta get you to listen, a'right. I have an idea, and imma gonna need your help. It's _brilliant_ , I promise you. People're gonna love it!"

The red faced man let out an aggravated groan "If it will get you out of my chambers."

"Sure, sure."

"Then speak!"

"Alright. Alright." she leaned in closer, a dopey grin on her face as thoughts and ideas jumbled together. "So, here's the plan…"


	9. Arc 2, Ch 9: The Cards You've Been Dealt

Arc Two: Settling In

Chapter 09: The Cards You've Been Dealt

* * *

 _Author's Note_

 _Take a moment, and imagine._

 _Thousands of years ago, in the Dawn Age, the First Men came to Westeros. A land without men. A land at both times different and familiar. Place yourselves in their shoes as they stood upon these hills and forests, meeting the Children of the Forests for the first time. The Children, unfamiliar to your kind, are curious and full of questions. "Describe to us your land, your language, your culture. Speak to us of this land called Essos. Tell us all that you can."_

 _What do you tell them? What can you, in your knowledge, say of the lands from which you came? Could you describe the great Empires of Valyrian and Yi Ti? Would you teach the tongues of Old Ghiscari and Lhazareen? Describe at length the architecture of Qarth, the spells taught in Asshai by the Shadow, or the trading routes of the Ibbenese? Think on these questions, and answer with humility._

 _I ask you these questions to reveal two truths. The first, to show that humanity contains in it the capacity to create all of these marvelous things described. We can build civilizations. Create and re-shape the world as we see fit. Our ability to innovate is second only to our capacity for imagination._

 _The second, however, is that these accomplishments are a product of civilization, and not of individuals. True, we may credit a singular person for these feats, as Bran the Builder was so for the creation of Winterfell, the Citadel, and the Wall, among others. Yet he did not lay each stone by hand. For these wonders were built by the hands of many. Humankind working together under the bonds of camaraderie to create something greater than themselves._

 _The reason I present these ideas to you, my dear reader, is to offer not only a philosophy, but an explanation. For I do not hail from Westeros. Nor Essos. Nor Sothoryos. My home cannot be found in any map from the Citadel to Asshai. It's name is unknown to your sailors and traders. In truth, I may well be the first of my people to have ventured to this land. A shipwrecked traveler found floating in the Sunset Sea._

 _As you read this, you may be finding yourself standing in the place of the Children. Mind full of questions and wonder. Could I describe to you my land in its entirety, from the various architectures and innovations to its languages and cultures? The simple answer is no, I cannot._

 _It doesn't mean that I won't try._

* * *

Jasmine's eyes shifted over the words in careful inspection. Assessing the layout of the metallic script as the ink dried over the pages. Nodding to herself slowly in satisfaction.

"These came out well. You did a great job." The complement was barely audible over the sound of the leather beaters. A young lad of nine pounding the leather with all of his might over rows of metal inlays. The boy stopped to catch his breath. Sweat mopping down strands of strawberry blond hair.

"Does this mean I can stop?" The boy asked.

"I'd like to finish this copy of the Author's Note first. Though if you're tired, Norwin, I can finish beating the ink in and you can retrieve my sheets for Lady Sybelle's appointment."

The boy groaned in distaste. "I have to do _more_ chores?"

"That's what you get for trampling all over my experiments. It was that or a lashing from the Septa. Be glad I offered you a way out." She took the beaters off his hands and flashed him a cheshire grin. "Besides, Lord Damon said you had to help in _any_ way you can."

"Arg!" Norwin stomped away, but hesitated to move on to the next task. Jasmine, meanwhile, set herself over the frame of metal letters. Checking over spots that needed more ink. From her side she heard the boy shout. "It's unfair! Why is Damion allowed to go off to tourneys, while I have to stay here and fetch sheets like a laundry maid?"

"He's a squire. You're a page." she said as she begun to beat at the frame.

"Two years ago you didn't know the difference between the two."

"Two years ago I was too busy studying to care."

There was silence from the boy and Jasmine continued the work. Twisting and pounding the fat, circular stamps in order to make as even a distribution as possible. When the work looked satisfactory she laid the beaters to the side, and gently covered the metal inlays with a wooden frame holding a long sheet of parchment. Locking the two frames closed, she pushed them into the wooden structure they were connected to. A tall thing that in some ways resembled a guillotine and in others like a gutted upright piano. Save for a heavy, flat slab of metal that sat at the heart of it; held into the air by a large screw and lever system. She grabbed hold of lever and pushed as hard as she could. The force of it pushed the metal slab downward, pressing the parchment over the ink. Satisfied in its force, she pulled the lever back and lifted the metal slab off of the parchment. From there the parchment was freed of the frame and left out to dry.

The process was repeated twice over with new frames of metal inlays. Further explanation of the author's intentions, including mentions of footnotes and the conflict of viewpoints bound to occur between the people of her land and the book's readers. It was a tedious task, for sure; yet, after spending many a night pouring over sketches, notes, and layouts for the manuscript, it felt prudent to offer her future readers some form of guidance. (After all, one person can only do so much, whereas progress can achieved by a collective. Given the proper instruction, of course.) There were also plans to add in a table of contents and list of images, but that would have to wait for the rest of the manuscript to finish the editing process. A process which could take anywhere from months to years to complete, weather permitted.

With the last sheet left to dry, Jasmine took a moment of rest to walk to a window and open the shutters. The slightest of breezes entered the room. Cool and crisp and without snow. Jasmine breathed in the air and released a happy sigh. Her third Winter in Westeros was coming to an end. Short and sweet, as had all of its past seasons. An end of Winter meant Spring; and Spring meant that her favourite projects could continue at last.

Thoughts of Spring were interrupted by a sound of footsteps entering the room. Jasmine turned to find young Norwin half-hidden by piles of sheets atop a laundry basket. His feet somewhat off balance and stumbling.

The woman suppressed an urge to laugh, and closed the shutters before turning back to the boy. "Here, let me help you with that." She came to his aide and lifted the basket from his fingers. Hoisting it up in a well practiced motion and let it rest on her hip. "Come, now. You can head out for the day after we finish setting up the studio."

* * *

The studio was not a room in it's own right, but one half of her bed chambers sectioned off by a pale blue curtain. Originally she had used her first bedchamber as a business area. Though, as time moved on and traffic increased, she had been able to convince Lord Damon to switch her small guest chamber for a larger one usually reserved for low-renowned nobles. Humble enough to not offend the higher officials, yet large enough to suit her needs; and with a pleasant view of the countryside to boot.

The two of them got to work in the studio. The drawing table was put aside, along with piles of parchment and a near-full sketchbook. A wool-topped collapsible table then took its place in the centre of the room. Next came the side table, now adorn with bottles of oil and essence. As a final step, they each grabbed a side of a cotton sheet and laid it out flat over the wool-covered table.

"I wish I was a squire." Norwin thought aloud as he worked the edges of the sheet into a set of built-in hooks. "Then I could go to all of the tourneys in the Seven Kingdoms."

Jasmine gave a nonchalant hum. "Mhmm. And I wish I was working at a design firm. You can't help the cards you've been dealt with, kid."

"Cards?" His head popped up, nose scrunched at the strange phrase. "What cards?"

Jasmine silently rolled her eyes at the minor mistake. _'Oh idioms. Can't live with them, can't live without them.'_

"I mean resources. Opportunities given by fate." She tucked the sheet into the hooks on her end, then gestured for the boy's attention. "Think of life as a game of cards. Each person is given a different set of cards. Some hands may be similar, some completely different. Either way, as I said before, the cards you receive can't be changed, not without some stroke of luck or cunning. What matters, however, is knowing how to use those cards to move forward in life."

The boy looked to her as he thought over the analogy. "How do I know what cards I have?"

"Well, you'll have to look at yourself and the world around you to figure it out." The look Norwin gave her spelled out pure confusion; so she opted to change tactics. "For example: I am a Switzer. My family, while large in North America, has no ties to Westeros. As a result, I have no access to any benefit that may come from that name."

She gestured the boy to take on that line of thinking. "Oh. I am Norwin Lannister. Second son to Gerold Lannister."

"Which means?"

"Which means… I can't be Lord of Casterly Rock. I'm too far down the line. Though not as far down as Damion."

"And?"

"And…"

"What does it mean to be a Lannister?"

"We are a noble House. We're rich as well."

"True. It also means that you have access to many advantages that most do not have. For example, as you grow older you may inherit land or be appointed to high positions of power."

"I'm only a second son," he complained "and my father is a third son!"

"Which brings us to the _other_ cards in your hand. The Lannister card can be used in-combination with the others, such as knowledge and training. You can learn to fight under the eye of a master at arms, and use that to become a squire; and later a knight. You know how to read and write, and can gain additional knowledge from a maester. This can expand your ability to think strategically, and to communicate from long distances by raven or secret messages to your allies.

"Even without the privileges that come from a favourable spot in the line of succession you can accomplish quite a lot. Just look at me. I lost my family card, but have been able to put most of my other cards to use. My first education card is equal to that of any lordling under a maester. The second, though, couldn't be transferred to a title position. However, that didn't stop me from using my knowledge to work on other things that I had learned of in my homeland."

"Like the printing press?" Norwin asked.

She gave a warm smile. "Like the printing press."

Jasmine could afford some pride in that accomplishment. The machine was impressive, by this world's standards. Something that no one here had yet to create. Though the 'invention' was still a prototype. Nowhere as sophisticated as, say, a typewriter. The mechanics of such a machine were still beyond her; but that was likely to change once the distribution process began.

His eyes drifted to the table, and patted onto the sheet. "What about this?"

"Massage was my father's trade. I learned from him, and showed promise, but it wasn't something I was overly interested in pursuing back home. There were many who practiced the trade, and I didn't think I would be able to compete in the market. So the card went unused. Here, however, there is no market for it, so far as I'm aware. Which means that I can cater to wealthy clients here and in town and earn enough coin to continue my projects without much difficulty."

Norwin considered that. "I don't have a skill, though. How will that help me play my cards?"

The woman giggled. "You're young, Norwin. With plenty of growing left. I'm sure you have plenty of cards left in your hand. It's just that you don't know all of them yet or haven't worked on them long enough to be put to use. When I started here, I didn't known enough of mechanics to build, or anatomy and herblore to massage; but, look now, I can make my own oils and create tools like the press. All because I was able to study these topics and build on them. Not enough to forge a maester's link, but enough to get by. In time, you'll be able to do the same."

She walked to his side and playfully nudged him. "Plus, it doesn't help having an ally card. If it weren't for the charity of House Marbrand, and the friendships I've built here in Ashemark, none of this would have been possible."

At that moment their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Speak of the devil." She breathed. "Well, kid, looks like our time's up for the day. Get plenty of rest, and think about what I've told you."

The boy nodded and ran for the door. Letting her client inside before he sped into the corridor.

* * *

Appointments with Lady Sybelle are generally done in pleasant silence. The older woman used this time to absorb the soothing qualities of the trade. Allowing her body to relax fully under the tide of hands as they drifted through her muscles.

It was a time for peace, both for the lady and for Jasmine. Her other clients are far more talkative. Some were compelled to break the silence with idle chit-chat. Others were more prone to gossip. Others, still, used the experience to open up about themselves as though it were a therapy session.

Jasmine was familiar with each type of person. Her father had often commented how his business seemed to multitask between healer and counsellor. It was a product brought forth by the qualities of the experience, he explained. The near-nakedness met with the social craving for physical contact create a combination and contrast at the same time; where people feel both vulnerable and safe under the touch to speak their minds as they wouldn't do elsewhere.

Though that was only for those prone to nervous chatter or social cravings. Those that are unperturbed by nakedness, or are more aware of their body, tend to keep their focus entirely on the physical. There is no trauma or fear, only confidence and content relaxation. Which said more of her current client than Jasmine would have realized beyond this table.

That said, the sessions with Sybelle were also a training ground for Jasmine, in an odd sense. She was of the sort that preferred to break too-long silences; yet silence is what her client required. It resulted in days like these serving as lessons in restraint and mindful awareness.

As the hour reached it's end, the quiet of the room was interrupted by the groan of door hinges. Jasmine kept the session going on baited breath, while an eye was kept on the curtain. Unsure of who or why someone was coming to see her. The curtain rustled as two heads popped through. Though they were much lower than anticipated.

"Jam-Jam, is Grandmother here?" Alysanne inquired in an audibly childish whisper. Before she could answer, the young girl spotted Sybelle and ran into the studio. Her cousin, Desmond, trailing in behind her. "Grandmother, can you read us a story!"

"Your grandmother is busy right now, Alysanne." Jasmine attempted to quiet the excitable girl.

"It's quite alright, Switzer." Lady Sybelle gently pushed her head and shoulders off of the table and smiled fondly at her grandchildren. "Alysanne, Desmond, each of you may choose a story and wait outside until I fetch you."

"Two stories?" They gasped.

"Yes, my darlings, but only if you wait outside."

Alysanne cheered and grabbed her cousin's hand. "Thank you, Grandmother. Goodbye, Jam-Jam. _Come,_ Desmond!"

"Goodbye, Jam-Jam." Desmond parroted as his cousin dragged him through the curtain and out the door.

Jasmine chuckled in spite of herself. "She can say Desmond alright, but somehow Jasmine's too tough for her."

"I believe you're stuck with that particular name." Lady Sybelle noted as she rested back onto the table.

Perhaps she was right? Alysanne had been calling her that from toddlerhood. Jasmine had hoped she'd grow out of it as her vocabulary improved. Though it didn't seem likely at this point.

"Guess so. ...Wait, now she has Desmond saying it too!"

"It will pass. Desmond is at the age where a child learns from modeling his elders. I imagine he will be chasing after Alyn and Jason once he begins his training with Bromwell."

Jasmine nodded and proceeded to rub excess oil from her client's body. It was hard to suppress the urge to chat, especially with the desire to point out that Desmond was technically the eldest of the two children; but it was clear that the conversation was at it's end. So she kept the comment to herself and continued with her work.

Once the massage was finished, she returned to the bed-side of her chambers to give her client privacy as she redressed. Taking the excess time to wash her hands in a small basin and remove the slick massage oil that encased them. After some time she was summoned back to the studio to assist with Lady Sybelle's corset. The appointment completing in ritualistic repetition.

"Here," The lady placed her hand in Jasmine's, "consider this a token of my gratitude."

Jasmine glanced at her hand. Payment in full for her services, with the addition of a silver coin and a small roll of parchment sealed in wax. Her eyes fixed on the parchment. So light, yet it felt heavy in her hand.

"My lady, if I may ask…" she looked up to find herself faced against the rustle of a curtain and an empty room.

 _Drat._

She was going to ask today. Had steeled herself in case a parchment came. Yet Sybelle had left the room before she could catch the moment. Intentional, most likely.

She hid the coins away in a compartment she'd installed in the wardrobe, then pocketed the parchment for safe keeping. The conscious feel of it burned a hole through her dress.

Cleaning the studio would have to wait, she decided. For now there a was a raven to tend to.

* * *

Author's Note: Time skip at last! As you read in the last note, I've been terribly impatient and wanted to move on from the first few months of life in Westeros. This chapter was a short one. More of a 'day in the life' of what she's been able to accomplish since landing here. I'm looking forward to having her life get better and grow as time moves on.


	10. Chapter 10: Christmas

A/N: This chapter marks a milestone for ITGOA. Both by being the tenth chapter and passing the one year anniversary of its publication. I want to take this time to thank all of the people whom have read this story. It warms my heart to see your support and hear from all of you (yes, even the criticisms. The spell-checking ones are quite handy). After nine chapters ITGOA has garnered 47 reviews, 275 favs/followers, and over 16,000 views. Here's to those numbers growing in the future!

* * *

Chapter Ten: Christmas

You know what makes for a novelty? Celebrating Spring on Christmas.

It doesn't account for much in Westeros. Christmas has no meaning here. Neither does December, at least in terms of the seasons. That said, there was something magical about the idea. Having a feast on Christmas Eve. Surrounded by friends and music and laughter. Drinking mulled wine by a roaring fire. And yet, _and yet_ , it wasn't to celebrate the birth of a Messiah or a festival to distract you from the darkness of Winter. It was for _Spring_. It was to celebrate the return of sunshine and flowers and all things warm and wholesome. The entire concept is like a mushing together of Christmas and Norooz. It's nostalgic, really. It feels familiar. It feels like _home_.

Even now, on Christmas Day, Ashemark remains in a celebratory mood. The day is full of children's laughter and amiable vibrancy. The sun is shining and the birds are singing. Everyone is in good spirits. All in all, a fantastic way to spend Christmas Day.

Which is why this morning was spent on a terrace overlooking the mountains. Lounging in the sunshine with Ryella as each took turns in a sketching contest. The current challenge being 'what is the most interesting tower you've seen', issued by Ryella. Now, on one hand, there was a barrier that you actually had to have been there at some point (not that google images meant anything in this world). On the other hand, Jasmine had a couple good ideas up her sleeve that could win the match. (Though, win or lose, the sketch would win a spot in her chapter 'Architecture and Design'. So, really, one could argue that she was still being productive this morning.)

"Finished!" Ryella proclaimed. Turning her paper over for the other woman to inspect. The image was of a multi-tiered tower protruding from a stoney island. The final tier resembled a fat candle, a tower topped by what appeared to be a giant flame.

"It's… is it on fire?"

The young woman chuckled at Jasmine's thrown statement.

"It's meant to be. This is the Hightower of Oldtown. The seat of House Hightower as well as Oldtown's lighthouse."

"That's… incredible." Silly as it sounds, Jasmine's mind was still reeling over the size of the flames. The entire top was ablaze. Maybe it was an over exaggeration on Ryella's part? Or maybe the people of Oldtown have someway of keep the fire going without the entire castle going up in smoke?

"It is. It's also the tallest tower in Westeros. Some say one can even see the Wall from its top."

' _While on fire, apparently. AND it's tall enough to see the Wall?'_

Well, it was official, Jasmine has definitely lost this round.

"What did you draw?" Ryella inquired, craning her neck to see Jasmine's page.

"Well, it's not as spectacular as yours." She admitted. "But it _is_ famous for it's intrigue." She moved the paper over to be better seen between them. "Behold, the Leaning Tower of Pisa!"

"Amazing." She heard Ryella breath. "They were able to construct a tower at such a queer angle?"

"Not _exactly_ ," She admitted, "it was an accident. The people who built it some centuries ago placed it on an uneven foundation. My art teacher says there've been efforts to hold it up. Digging beneath the soil, wires, and such. It will never be fixed; though, at this point, with the level of popularity it has I much doubt the Italian government would ever decide to fix its leaning quality."

"I suppose that could be a lesson in itself." Ryella suggested offhand. "Finding victory in its faults?"

"Huh. Not a bad lesson, at all. Didn't realize you were such a philosopher."

Ryella grinned. "There's more to me than a talent for drawing." She teased. "How old were you when you visited the Tower of Pisa?"

"I was sixteen at the time."

"Ah, not that much long ago."

"Pfft, I don't know about that." she stretched as she thought it over. "Sixteen. That's about a third of my life ago, in relative terms."

"You have a peculiar way of measuring time." Ryella noted with a jocular smile. "I suppose that would make my sixteenth year one ninth of my life ago, yes?"

Jasmine laughed at that. "One _ninth?_ Seven help me, I feel so _old!_ " Her hand pressed against in forehead, imitating a swoon.

Ryella didn't seem to fall for her faint. "Twenty-four is hardly old."

Jasmine opted to ignore her. Wrapping an arm around the teenager as she playfully bemoaned her circumstance. "Here I was, believing I was in my prime; but, alas, I am but a flower wilting against time!"

"Jasmine, please-"

"Fading under the glory of your youth and artistic talents!"

"I'm hardly younger than you-"

"There! I fall into the darkness, a hag! With only the Crone's light to lead us elders from that _dreaded. Black. Night!_ "

"Oh, hush, you!" Ryella snickered and shoved the older woman away. The two of them bursting into laughter as Jasmine nearly fell from the edge of the divan.

"Sounds as though you two are having fun."

Jasmine, now lying upside-down over the divan's narrow armrest, grinned at Margaery's inverted image in the doorway. "The best! Though Ryella's being cruel to me."

"I am not!" Ryella laughed.

"Showing off because we're old."

" _You_ were complaining about your age. I said nothing off the sort."

"She's so mean, Margaery."

"Of _course_ she is, Switzer." The third woman teased.

"Care to join us, Margaery? We are holding a sketching contest."

"I wouldn't fare well in that sort of contest." Margaery admitted. Jasmine righted herself and made room as Margaery walked over to them. The new woman grabbing hold of the backrest as she lowered herself onto the seat. "Though I hope, instead, I could interest the two of you to come hawking with me."

"Hawking? Now?"

"It _is_ Spring." She asserted to Ryella. "I asked Melissa, but she _insisted_ we stay inside. A waste of a day, don't you think?" She eyed Jasmine at that remark. It was a bait, and she knew it.

' _But that's not what Ryella meant…'_

Jasmine and Ryella looked to each other, then to Margaery and (most importantly) the large swelling beneath her turquoise dress, then back to each other. Their eyes communicating silently.

' _Should you tell her or should I?'_

"But, Margaery," Ryella hesitated to say "you're with child."

"I'm _aware_ of that." She snapped, perhaps a tad too harshly.

"Riding is dangerous for an unborn child; and you're not the safest rider-"

"I'm an _outstanding_ rider!"

"-known for being reckless because of your skill." she scolded.

"You worry too much." Margaery dismissed offhand.

"Margaery, are you still asking others to go hawking?" A male voice interrupted the conversation as Donnel walked onto the terrace.

"So what if I am?"

"Margaery," he pleaded, "we have been through this. You can't ride in your condition. Melissa says you'll need to wait until after our child is born-"

"Oh, what does she know? You understand, Switzer, yes?"

Jasmine threw her hands up casually in surrender. "Actually, they have a point."

Margaery glowered with betrayal. "You're willing to agree with Melissa?"

"Hey, we might not get along, but she has three children and a fourth on the way." Jasmine pointed out. "She knows the limitations of pregnancy better than any of us. She's not even as far along as you. If _she's_ avoiding it now, it's definitely not safe for you at this point."

"My pregnancy is not _so_ harsh that I can't-"

"Margaery, you look like a melon with legs!"

Margaery went silent as blood rushed to her face. Her husband, on the other hand, started snickering. Even Ryella was forcing back laughter. Though, honestly, what else could be said? Margaery was a tiny little thing. Short and lithe. Factors that made her pregnancy more pronounced. She was nearing the end of her second term but already looked ready to burst. Looking at her in this state was like watching a pregnant kiwi. It'd be a wonder if she didn't pop open any day now.

"A-a melon?! I am _not_ a melon!"

"Yes, you are." Donnel remarked. He walked behind the divan and wrapped his arms around her. "You're my sweet melon." He added that with a kiss on the cheek. An act that somewhat quelled her outrage. Though she held a stubborn pout as her hand unconsciously smoothed over her protruding belly.

"This is the last time we're having a child, husband."

Donnel rolled his eyes. "It's only the first."

"And the last." She insisted.

He smirked. "I make no promise of that." He took one arm beneath her legs and hoisted her up into his arms. "Though, for the time being, perhaps I can interest you into taking a different sort of mount?" He teased.

Jasmine snorted at that, as Ryella, once the meaning dawned on her, blushed a deep crimson. Margaery rolled her eyes, but then her husband whispered something in her ear. She blushed, and used her free arm to punch Donnel in the shoulder. Though there was a smile on her face, so that was progress.

"My wife and I are going to _retire_ for the rest of the morning." He grinned as he began walking away, Margaery still in his arms and a wicked giggle on her lips. "You women have yourselves a lovely day."

"Y-you as well, cousin."

"Try not to be too loud!" Jasmine joked after them as they fled the room. "I love those two!" She laughed. "So much fun to have aroun- are you alright?"

Ryella seemed to be lost in thought, a frown on her face. "Oh, pardon?"

"Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes, I am." She tried to dismiss any worry with a renewed smile on her face.

" _Ryella._ "

"I am well. I was only… thinking."

"Uh-huh." A voice of sarcastic disbelief.

"They are wonderful together, aren't they?"

Jasmine's eyes shifted back to the now-empty doorway and nodded. "That, they are. Is that why you were frowning just now?"

"Jasmine, this isn't one of your massage sessions."

"I'm not asking you as my client, I'm asking you as my friend." She gave a smirk and a wink. "Even if I was, I have a policy on client-confidentiality."

Ryella fought not to roll her eyes (and failed), but sighed as she hugged her legs to her chest. "It's… it's a shame Margaery wouldn't want more children. She and Donnel are happy together. Perfect, even."

Jasmine hummed. Ya, she could see where this was going. Comparing the golden couple to her own situation wasn't a healthy outlook. Here they were, off for some Spring-time sexy-time, yet when was the last time Ryella and Daven did something like that? Ever? Far as Jasmine is aware, they don't even share the same bed.

"To each their own. She might be happier just being with him, or she might enjoy having children. Remains to be seen. But it wouldn't be right to force her into a life she doesn't want." ...Well, _that_ doesn't help much, does it? Ryella's in that exact situation.

"I know. I just can't help but wonder. You understand, right?"

"Mostly." She shifted. "Though, Ryella, you've never told me _why_ things are the way they are between the two of you."

Ryella seemed at conflict with herself. Deciding on what to say. "I don't want to talk about it."

"If you talk about it, maybe I can help?"

"There's nothing you could do that would help." Her voice edged with frustration. "I'm sorry, Jasmine; but there is nothing I could tell you that could change how things are between my husband and I. Do trust me on this."

She sighed. There was an air of finality that marked an end to the discussion. Jasmine took the cue and gave her friend a reassuring hug. In that moment of silence, a thought dawned on her.

"I just remembered, I have something for you." She got up out of the divan and walked back into room. From a nearby table, she fetched a cloth wrapping that had been left when she first came to the room, and return to the terrace. "Here, we are." she placed it on Ryella's lap.

"What is this?" The teen woman asked.

"A gift. In my homeland, it's tradition to give gifts on the seventh day before the new year." she explained. Fingers wrung together nervously. "I don't have much, but I wanted to make you something." _and what better time to offer it than when you need to cheer said person up._

Ryella blinked, dumbfounded. She looked down to the cloth and gently brushed her hand over it. Curiosity peaking, she covered the cloth to reveal a white fabric. She pulled it upwards, the fabric seemingly grew longer and longer as it was uncovered. Ryella stood up. The gift trailing down from her hands, unfurling into a white and gold dress decorated with small, embroidered images of grapevines, apples, leeks, and a colourful variety of foods all throughout the hem.

"You-you made this?" She asked in astonishment.

Jasmine smiled. "That, I did. Though Nella and Wenda helped me work on the measurements and embroidery."

"These… these are the sigil of my House."

She grinned outright. "Yup! It seems a common fashion choice here, so I wanted it to match that idea. Do you like it?"

Ryella continued to stare at the dress. Turning it over to inspect it further. The images of fruit and vegetables danced along the hem as a breeze swept through the terrace. Then, within a heartbeat, Jasmine was wrapped in Ryella's arms.

"I _love_ it! Thank you, Jasmine, _thank you!_ "

' _Whoa. Okay. It wasn't worth_ _that_ _much praise, was it?'_

Her eyes glanced down at her friend's face. A smile lined with tears. Her heart soften at that moment, as she returned the hug.

"You're welcome, Ryella. Merry Christmas."

* * *

Christmas gifts weren't common in Jasmine's life. Hannukah, sure. Though the lunar calendar remained an unusual concept, so the idea of reliving her family's holiday felt difficult to tie in to a specific date. Still, the idea of giving a gift to her closest Westerosi friend had been stuck to her mind for the past month, so she had made the effort to bring a touch of Christmas spirit. It wasn't a mutual gift-giving, but that was to be expected. It wouldn't have been a surprise, otherwise. So Jasmine had been content to play Santa Claus for the year. A gift to her friend, none for herself.

' _Then again,'_ she thought as she spotted Lady Sybelle walking alone through a hallway, ' _maybe life provides in own sorts of gifts on Christmas?_ '

"Good day, Lady Marbrand." Plastering a jovial smile on her face as she greeted her.

"Good day, Switzer. I hope your morning has been well."

"Wonderful, thank you for asking. Ryella and I were having a discussion of architectural feats in Westeros." Her eyes flashed quickly, finding the hall to be empty. "My lady, I was wondering,"

Sybelle's shoulders was stiff.

' _Crap, too soon, too soon. Fall back!_ '

"Ryella showed me an image of Hightower. I must ask, just how large is the flame at its top?"

Body language relaxed. The lady even seemed to smile. Good, she saved herself, then. "Large enough to be seen for miles like a moon in the night. Hightower is a beacon of light for all voyagers, from land and sea alike."

It sounded to Jasmine like Sybelle was reciting that description. Then again, Hightower had been her home, once. It was only natural she took praise of her House and home to heart.

Jasmine nodded her head in ascent. "The way Ryella described it, it's amazing that such a large flame could burn without damaging the castle below."

' _That's right, reel her in slowly. This is just an innocent conversation.'_

Lady Sybelle gave a small chuckle. "We Hightowers have had a long history of keeping that flame. My grandmother once told me that magic was worked into the foundation and the castle is protected by that magic."

' _Huh, that's... actually pretty cool. Wonder if it actually is, like Winterfell or the Wall?_ '

"That's very cool. Fascinating, I mean." She paid mind to where they were walking. There was maybe another minute or two before they'd no longer be alone.

' _Screw pretense, just go for it!'_

"To be protected by magic, Hightower sounds enchanting. Especially when you consider _DamonhasbeenLordforsixmonthsnow._ " The last part ending in a hurried rush before she could regret saying anything.

And regret she did, to a small extent, as Lady Sybelle turned to face her and shot a withering glare.

' _Niiiice segue.'_ Her thoughts betrayed her sarcastically.

' _What else should I have gone with? "Hey, your husband's been dead for six months now, so what gives?" '_

Damn it. This was going to end in fire and brimstone, she could feel it. Still, she persisted. "It's been months, my lady."

"What of it?" Oh, she knew _exactly_ what this was about.

But, damn, what could she say? They were out in the open. Words needed to be chosen carefully. "Must things need to continue as the were? Surely times have changed, now."

Her nostrils flared. Sybelle looked to each side and found no one. She calmed herself somewhat and quipped an answer. "Nothing has changed. The problems of my husband were not shouldered by him alone. There are others this would affect."

O-kay… so… were all of the Marbrands involved in this? Seems a little dramatic. "Surely they can see reason?"

"Switzer, I told you once that quarrels left unresolved will only fester with time. Unfortunately, Marbrand men are known to be stubborn when it suits them; and, in the years that have passed, this fight has rotted to the core."

' _Greaaaaat. So_ _this_ _is going nowhere fast.'_

"I understand. Apologies, my lady, I won't press the matter further."

"That's appreciated." Sybelle spun on her heel and began walking again.

Jasmine trotted to catch up to her. Hoping to find something else to break the silence. Things were so much easier this morning with Ryella and _hey wait a minute!_

"On a _different_ topic, I don't suppose you could tell me what caused the marital issue between Daven and Ryella?"

Sybelle gave an annoyed huff. It seemed rather undignified from her usual state, even in an angry one. "Switzer, those problems are one and the same. As I've said, I will speak of this no further."

Jasmine paused where she stood. Dumbfounded.

' _What? I mean, HOW? How are those issues related? That doesn't even make any sense!'_

She would have asked Sybelle to clarify, but the lady had turned and left through a door before Jasmine had a chance to collect her thoughts.

' _Ugh. Why does family drama have to be so annoying!'_

* * *

That evening Jasmine found herself waiting outside the kitchen door. Body leaning against the wall and foot tapping with semi-impatience as voices melded in varying tones beyond the wooden frame.

 _Breathe in._

 _Breathe out._

 _In._

 _Out._

 _In._

"Good evening, Switzer." A merry cheer interrupted her thoughts. Through half-lidded eyes she spotted Anders and Damon approaching round the corner.

"Good evening, Anders. Lord Damon." She nodded to each of them in turn, being sure to push off the wall a moment for a slight curtsey.

The greetings were interrupted by a man's growling voice through the door and a woman shouting frustrations. Damon and Jasmine's bodies tensed at the noise, while Anders raised an eyebrow curiously.

"Gendel, again?" Jasmine nodded. Andres chuckled in spite of the situation. "What happened this time?"

"At this point, I've given up trying to guess." she shrugged. So much for the celebratory mood. Wasn't bound to last, where those two cooks are concerned.

Damon's face soured as he rolled his shoulders back. "I will take care of this."

"Now, now brother." Anders held him back. "We're here to relax. No more work this evening. Wait here a moment." Anders moved passed his brother and slipped through the door.

The shouting didn't seem to subside. Whatever Anders was planning, she wasn't sure.

"Are you waiting on one of them to finish?" Damon asked politely.

Jasmine shook her head. "I was hoping to get a pot of tea for the evening. Though I suppose I'll have to wait some time." The two of them stood in silence a moment. The arguing keeping a steadily loud volume.

"They would likely be too distracted in their bickering to notice your presence if you went now." The lord suggested.

Jasmine shrugged absentmindedly. "It's possible. Though I find it's better to avoid fights in places where a knife is easily accessible."

Damon offered a smile "Wise words."

"Experienced ones."

They stayed a moment longer. Anders was sure taking his time.

"Are the two of you continuing in the celebrations?"

Damon breathed a light groan. "At my brother's insistence. He seems oblivious that I have duties to attend to, or is adamant that I ignore them."

"Perhaps he just wants you to rest for the night? You've been working hard."

He huffed at the comment. "So he tells me. Still, to govern is an arduous task. It does not end when the sun sets or the snow falls. Whether I sleep or am awake, I am a lord, always. ...I just hope I can be as good as my father once was." He seemed to catch himself at that moment. His body shifted into a defensively refined position. "Forgive me, such words are unbecoming."

"Not at all, my lord." She pushed off the wall and stepped towards him. "Though, if it's all the same to you, I think you're doing a great job; and are shaping yourself to be a good lord as well."

Something in his posture seemed to lighten at that comment. Moreso as he thanked her.

' _Anders was right,'_ she thought, ' _he needs a night off.'_

At that moment, Anders came through the door. Sneaking out two bottles of wine like a thief in the night. He winked at Jasmine as he shut the door and muffled the shouts on the other side.

' _Cheeky bugger,'_ She thought, ' _acting like a spy completing mission impossible.'_

He tossed one bottle to his brother, who fumbled as he caught the unexpected throw. "A bottle of Dornish strongwine for you, and hippocras for myself." He flipped his head over Jasmine's way. "You're welcome to join us if you like."

"Thanks, but I'll have to decline." She smiled, though held back laughter at Damon's visibly relieved face. "Save that wine for yourselves. Otherwise you'll need another trip here, tonight."

"True." Anders clasped an arm against Damon's back. "Come brother, it's time we get you well drunk." The brother in question groaned, but resigned to his younger's lead. They each said their farewells in turn, with Anders half pushing his brother through the hallway.

Jasmine grinned at the sight. With Damon shouldering responsibility as lord of the castle, and Daven's naturally serious disposition, Anders somehow found ways to lighten the mood with his devil-may-care attitude to life. Keeping his brothers in check from going too far off the deep end. Well, if only a little bit.

' _What those boys need is someone to balance them out._ '

From behind the door, a sound of metal came crashing; almost drowning out the shouting. Breaking from the previous thought, she sighed in exasperation.

' _Looks like I'll be waiting here awhile.'_

* * *

A/N: For those of you wondering, Norooz (or Nowruz) is the Iranian New Year, which takes place on the first day of Spring. A celebration that's hard to pull off in a world where the seasons don't have a steady pattern, but worth celebrating when the opportunity arises.

So, could anyone guess Ryella and/or Margaery's Houses from their dress descriptions?


	11. Chapter 11: In the Name of Knowledge

A/N/: Life has been busy lately. What with work, family events, and GoT (it's been sooooo good!). Hopefully things will eventually slow down and I can post another chapter soon.

* * *

Chapter 11: In the Name of Knowledge

The following morning Jasmine found herself walking through the courtyard towards the cellar. Steps weaving through the hustle and bustle of Springtime activity. Kitchen help running into town for bread and produce. Farmers feeding chickens while the butcher picked the choicest of the lot for tonight's dinner. Laundry maids, guards, smithies, children, builders, everyone had a place to be.

It reminded Jasmine of a passage she once read in Jane Jacobs' book _The Death and Life of Great American Cities._ It described the city street as a ballet. From the newspaper delivery in the wee hours of the morning, to children doing homework on their stoops, to the drunks and nightclub goers wandering the streets at 3AM, each person played their role in a complex dance.

 _There goes the baker with his tray, like always._

The reminder brought a smile to her face. A peculiar comfort of familiarity. Though, instead of a city street or a poor provincial town, this dance came in the form of a castle courtyard. Ashemark was a stage, come alive to the production called Spring. Even Jasmine played a role. Albeit a small one.

 _There goes the West-girl passing through, like always. Who know what plan she's cooking up today?_

She was the anomaly in the pattern. The improv artist in the ballet. Each day, a different goal. Yesterday she was a guest and confidant. Today, a scientist. Tomorrow, who's to say? A writer, an inventor, a masseur, a storyteller, the possibilities were limited only by her knowledge and endurance. Each took its own life, and kept her own above the water's edge.

"Good morning, Jasmine." Ah, the trouble with being the improv artist. Your movements risk changing the dance of the ensemble.

"Good morning, Norwin."

"What are you doing today?"

"Replicating Mendel's theory of genetics."

A beat of silence.

"Oh."

Jasmine snickered. It was probably cruel of her to confuse the boy. "I'm only teasing, Norwin." She playfully ruffled his hair, only for the boy to redden and bat her hand away.

"Don't do that! I'm not a dog."

"Of course not," she cooed "you're an adorable little lion cub." More snickering, only this time from a group of boys behind him.

"Morning boys. Need something?"

Norwin pouted but answered the question. "We were wondering if you could tell us the story of the Lion King."

"Again? I told you that one last week, didn't I?"

"Yes, but Damion didn't hear it!"

Her eyes glanced over to Damion Lannister. A head taller than Norwin, due to his age, and had a telltale mop of spun-gold hair. "You'll have to wait. I have things to get done today if I'm going to accomplish anything this Spring."

"We don't _have_ time!"

She shot Norwin a stern look. The boy hesitated as his flush deepened. " _Please?_ " Much better. "...Damion has to leave soon."

She gave Damion a questioning look, and he filled in an answer. "Ser Anders told me we're leaving tomorrow for Storm's End."

Storm's End? "So soon? You've only been back a few days."

"There's to be a tourney in honour of the late Lord and Lady Baratheon." he explained. "Ser Anders says we have to leave now if we're to make it in time for the lists."

Oh, right. Jasmine heard about that. Robert's parents died on their way back from Essos. Poor lads. Though that was nearly a month ago, and the tourney itself was going to take place about two months from now, if she recalled correctly. If that's true, and it takes _tha_ t long to get there, it must mean Anders and Damion will be away from Ashemark for half a year, most likely. Suppose that explains the boys' sense of urgency.

"Hmm. Well, I still have things to do today. How about I tell you all about it in the evening. Deal?"

"Deal!"

* * *

Once that was dealt with, Jasmine continued her journey into the cellar. Frozen bodies of pigs, sheep, and goats hung from hooks in the ceiling. Barrels of grain and wine. Wheels of cheese. She walked past the them all. In one section, roped off from the rest of the produce storage, were four football sized containers of peas. Each lid painted with the initials GS, GT, YS, and YT, a code of traits for her use. Green vs Yellow. Short vs. Tall. This year she was hoping to expand the assortment of traits, and make a challenge to expose the possibility of recessive traits emerging after generations-long dormancy. The containers collected, Jasmine moved out of the room and back through the cellar's winding hallway.

As she neared the entrance, she found the way blocked by someone facing one of the storage doorways. Approaching closer, the face became clearer under the torchlight. "Lord Damon, good morning."

He turned, acknowledging her presence. "Good morning, Switzer."

From the doorway, Jasmine heard a noise. Head turned, she found two more men in the room. One appeared to be the steward, holding a ledger and his finger counted crates. The other looked to be the man in charge of the food stores.

"What's going on here?"

"Preparing for the growing season. We need to see how much can be spared for the New Year's feast and what should be saved for the farmers to raise their crops."

Jasmine hummed in understanding. Eyes glancing over the crates and barrels with new eyes. "Should we even _have_ another feast? There was one for Spring, itself. Might be best to just save what we have, for now."

Damon nodded lightly. "It's a possibility. Hence, why we are inspecting supplies."

They stood there quietly. Thoughts ruminating in Jasmine's mind. "So, I hear that Anders is leaving for Storm's End."

"He is."

It was said rather casual. Matter-of-fact. His tone didn't fit in her mind. "You don't mind that he's leaving after six days?"

"You wouldn't understand." He caught her insulted expression and waved it off. "I mean no offense, Switzer. The Baratheons are one of the great houses of Westeros. It would be in Ashemark's interests to honour Lord Steffon's passing and offer our condolences to the young lords."

"So," its meaning dawned on her, "you're using Anders' love of jousting as a political tool."

Damon allowed a breath of laughter. "No need to sound so dejected, Switzer. I am only doing what is expected of me as lord of a noble house." A smirk crept to his lips. "If such actions happen to benefit future trade agreements, well, _surely_ there can be no issue to that, yes?"

Something about the smile unnerved her. It had the playful sparkle she's seen often in Anders, yet his eyes held a knowing calculation she's seen in Daven when they were working on inventions. A queer expression she hadn't seen on him before; yet, at once, its meaning was clear. ' _He's playing the Game.'_

It seems the young lord is doing better than he gave himself credit for.

They were interrupted by the steward and cellarman emerging from the room. They gave a short hand report, then moved to the next room. While they worked, a memory emerged from her mind. She'd seen all of this once before in a book. One of _the_ books, actually. With its memory, new thoughts and plans were birthed.

"We've been pretty lucky, lately." Jasmine noted offhandedly.

"Lucky?"

"Ya. For the past three years we've experienced short seasons. Four to five a year. I'd call that lucky, wouldn't you?"

A (thankfully normal) smile graced his face. "Luck would be three years of Summer."

Jasmine smiled at the joke. "Yes, you're right, that'd be better." Then came a moment of paused consideration. "Though, now that you mention it, we had a three year Winter before this trend." She turned to him and offered a casual shrug. "It wouldn't hurt to prepare for something like that."

Damon frowned at the idea. "The steward has made note of that possibility. What would you suggest?"

She considered it for a moment. "Save the feast food for Spring rations. Have an early start of storing fresh crops. Three years of Winter would be a good goal to strive for. Perhaps even save some other items to trade for food from places with a _warmer_ climate?"

They exchanged a glance. An understanding between them. Plans and strategies formulating in the young lord's mind at the implication of that suggestion. It wasn't much, Jasmine mentally confessed, but these seeds of thought may well be enough to make a difference.

* * *

Later that day, after a morning of planting and an afternoon of storytelling, Jasmine found her way back to her room. Creeping cautiously through her belongings, she opened up a secret compartment. Therein was a folded sheet of paper. A collection of seemingly random words and numbers dotted the sheet. After much searching, her eyes fixed on a string of code.

280 - Laughing Tree - 282

* * *

The year is now 279 AC.

New Year's Day came and went with little fanfare. Lord Damon had decreed two celebrations in eight days to be excessive. Some people grumbled at that. Others praised the young lord for his wisdom. Far as Jasmine was concerned, the naysayers will be sure to thank him once reality bites them in the ass.

The first month of the new year was of little excitement at Ashemark. Mostly it involved people delivering seeds and Winter rations to the surrounding villages to start the first stages of farming, or miners and builders renewing their work in the mountains in search of gold, silver, and other precious materials.

Outside of Ashemark was where the excitement was really happening. The biggest news being that Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia Martell were now engaged. A royal wedding always made for great gossip and conversation. By conversation, meaning the higher ups in the castle were trying to find ways to capitalize on the event. What gift to offer the bride and groom? Which guests should they mingle with? Are there any eligible bachelors and maidens attending to strike marriage arrangements? That sort of thing. Jasmine didn't quite understand the fuss and urgency. The wedding was an entire year away. She had more pressing things to concern herself with.

Like when Margaery went into early labour in February. _That_ had almost been a disaster. They were lucky the Maester has a knack for stitching. Otherwise, well, Jasmine didn't want to think about the _otherwise_. Margaery had to spend a long time in recovery and, in that time, was doted on by the castle's ensemble of highborn mothers. Helping to care for baby Alerie and keep the new mother's health in check. Lia became something of a wet nurse for Alerie, seeing as the Lannister had her own young toddler, Jocelyn, still on the breast. It was a bonding experience for the lot of them. Jocelyn and Alerie were now milk sisters, something that the collection of mothers praised over, and the Marbrand brides seemed closer together than ever before. Jasmine herself claimed the place of a supportive friend. Staying close enough to help Margaery in her recovery, but not too much to overstay her welcome.

* * *

"It's times like these where I'm thankful that I have no children."

Jasmine paused from her notes to glance at the man sitting across the desk. The offhand comment punctuated by the distant sound of Margaery's cries of frustrations mingled with Alerie's wails.

"Sure you wouldn't reconsider? Sounds like _so_ much fun."

" _Fun_." Daven mocked. "Is that why you're hiding in the library instead of waiting at her side?"

"I have my reasons." She defended, holding up a sheet of paper. "This book won't write itself." But, ya, she was totally hiding. Margaery was healing more, thus taking care of Alerie more. It… wasn't going too well.

"Is that so?" A knowing smirk. "I was under the impression that you're machine did just that."

Jasmine facepalmed at the retort because, _damn_ , she had walked straight into that one. No good retorts came to mind, so she answered with silence. She could always flick a paper ball at him, but that'd only prove that he won. He doesn't deserve that level of satisfaction.

He shuffled his collection of papers to proofread and pulled out one to lookover.

"I must know, did this story truly happen?"

Jasmine gestured for the paper to see what he was referring to. Daven turned it over to her and she glanced at the contents.

 _The Nigerian Conundrum_

 _The understanding of a family's genetic inheritance is at times best revealed by the emergence of recessive traits. These emergences usually occur early in inheritance, ideas such as having your grandfather's blue eyes or your great aunt's red hair. There are, however, occasions where recessive traits are lost for many generations._

 _In one instance, there was a husband and wife from Nigeria, a land of people whose complexions are not unlike the people of Sothoryos. This complexion was shared by the husband, wife, and their two children. On the birth of their third child, however, this was not the case. The child was fair of skin, with blue eyes and yellow hair. The husband accused the wife of infidelity. The wife, in turn, sought genetic scientists to prove her fidelity. The scientists inspected the genetics of the child, and found it matched the father's. The child was indeed his, despite not looking either like his father or mother. How could this be? It was revealed, through research into their family histories, that the husband and wife each had a fair skinned ancestor from foreign lands. By the slightest of chances, these traits survived for generations in dormancy in two entirely different bloodlines, and merged together in a single child._

"Oh, it happened, all right! It spurred quite a storm back home." Jasmine grinned as she passed the sheet back to him.

"The child was his?"

"Yessir!"

"For certain?"

"The tests are rarely wrong. Even when they are, there's usually some unusual trait about the person tested that causes it."

Daven looked over the page in attempt to believe it. "And the story of the mismatched twins?"

"That happened, too. And, before you ask, so was the story of the twins with two fathers."

"Incredible!" He breathed in amazement. His eyes rereading the other pages. Jasmine took the silence to continue writing on her own sheets of paper. Allowing the Westerosi to revel in the mysteries of genetic inheritance.

"Switzer," he began, "if this is all true, there may be consequences we haven't considered."

Jasmine paused, quill in hand. "How so?"

"These children could be explained away by your people's methods of ' _genetic screening'_ ," the term falling foreign on his tongue, "but, here, we do not possess these machines. You don't explain what they look like or how they work."

"Can't be helped. I don't _know_ how they work."

"That's my point. It gives verdict without proof. If a woman is unfaithful, what is to stop her from claiming her child is like the children in these examples?"

Jasmine pondered over the predicament. It was a good question, no doubt. "It's hard to say. The best we can hope for is looking for proof within a bloodline. I can't say much for lowborns, but highborns have family histories that can be referenced. It could prevent challenges from either party."

"Perhaps." Daven considered. "Though, maybe it would be best to simply not mention these examples in your book? There is also the matter of sex determined by one's father. This idea would spread outrage amongst everyone in the Seven Kingdoms."

"I'm not going to leave that out. _Neither_ of them."

"These words could be dangerous."

"These words are the truth."

They stared at each other a long time. Neither breaking eye contact. Daven can say what he wants, but it wasn't up for discussion. These revelations are going in the book, regardless. She will not back down on that.

"If you do this, then-"

"AAHHHHHHHHHH!" A cry came from the other side of the library. Pronounced by the sound of heavy items crashing to the floor.

Both Jasmine and Daven jumped in their seats. After a moment's hesitation, Jasmine scrambled out of her chair towards the sound. Daven followed close behind. They raced to the source of the noise. Arriving to find a pile of heavy books scattered across the floor; and Maester Harwin, reclining in his seat. Ticking marks onto a couple of sand dials.

"Ah, not long, not long at all. I must say, you both did much better than the handmaidens."

They stared at him, dumbfounded.

"What…" Daven tried to collect his thoughts. "Why did cry out?"

"Testing an experiment, my dear boy." He grinned. "I believe our young flower here called it the Bystander Effect, yes?"

 _What... the shit…_ "Are you fucking serious right now?" She demanded. "We thought you were in trouble!"

The maester lessened his grin, but offered little condolence. "That was the point, my dear. A blind study, as you've said, is a viable way of achieving honest results." he explained.

"A blind what?" Daven looked to the two of them for an answer.

Jasmine offered no answer. Too busy burying her forehead into the palm of her hand. There was too much tension in her mind right now. "I am _seriously_ regretting ever telling you about that."

It was no secret that the maester had taken a liking to Earth's advancements in psychology. Even decided to write his own book on the subject, along with the occasional experiment. But to do _this_? The man is going to get punched in the face one day ...if she or Daven don't do it right this second.

"Don't be so distraught, my dear. It's all in the name of knowledge and expanding our understanding of the world!"

Daven and Jasmine exchanged a look, their recent dispute cast aside. It was bullshit and they knew it. The maester could claim whatever he wanted, but the truth was he got a kick out of toying with people in these experiments. His muffled chuckling hid nothing.

In the silence between the duped volunteers, a sound of feet came pounding across the floor.

"Ah, there's another one." The Maester marked off another sand dial as a guard came running into the room.

"M'lord-" his voice and torso dropped into a pant, "-terrible-" pant "-happened" pant.

"Don't waste your concern," Daven reassured the poor guard "the maester was merely faking his cries."

The man looked up. Face grimacing in confusion "What? No," pant "M'lord." he took a deep breath and stood tall. Eyes flashing between Daven and the maester. "You must come quick! Your lady mother, she's fallen!"

* * *

 _Fallen_ doesn't sound like much. A slip on the ice or a wet floor, that's fallen. Blacking out while going down a tall flight of stairs and bashing various limbs on the way down, _that's_ a hell of a fall. The maester had spent hours checking over Sybelle Marbrand. Several fractures, a broken hip, and a bruised body. To top it off the blackout was due to some sort of viral or bacterial illness. So they have to worry about it spreading while also making sure none of her cuts get infected. In short, it was a mess.

People were in and out of her bedchambers all day. Her family fretted about before being shooed away by the maester. The handmaids and other attedants fetched water, bandages, and whatever other items the maester needed to easy the lady's pain. Jasmine had joined the handmaids in their efforts; but, at this point in time, there was little else left for her to do. Waiting in uncertainty, Jasmine paced the floor of Lady Sybelle's solar. The maester still working within Sybelle's bedchamber.

The door opened at last, as Maester Harwin walked through. Jasmine jumped to attention and went for the door. She slowed before reaching the entrance. Harwin's shoulders were slumped, and his movements sluggish.

Carefully, she questioned him "How is she?"

The maester shook his head. "Not well. The fall has taken quite a toll on her body. She needs time to heal."

"But she will be alright." Half question, half statement.

His eyes shifted. That wasn't a good sign. "That will depend on the illness. I will do what I can, but only time will tell." He laid a hand on her shoulder. "Her sons need to know of her condition. Watch over her until I return."

"Yes, Maester Harwin. Of course."

He nodded and left the solar. Jasmine breathed out, easing whatever nervous tension held in her system before entering the room.

It wasn't enough. The sight of Sybelle Marbrand made her body flinch. All bandaged and bruised like a mummified eggplant.

"If I had any doubt of my state," her voice rasped "that look confirms how terrible this is."

Jasmine grimaced and bowed her head. "Forgive me, my lady. I wasn't expecting-"

"A body broken by a fall? For a storyteller, you lack imagination."

Well, at least she well enough for jokes. "Maybe I was trying to be an optimist?"

"That would be a rare treat." Her head rolled a fraction in Jasmine's direction before flinching at the pain. "Unfortunately, this feels far worse than it looks."

' _So, a lot. Got'cha.'_ "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Tell me, is there anyone else here?"

"No, my lady. Would you like me to fetch someone? "

"No," she groaned in pain, "I- I need you- to send a raven."

Jasmine's hands wrung together nervously. Still, head her nodded. "I can do that. What should I tell him?"

"Tell him- he needs to-" Sybelle's body began to shake as she hacked a cough. Jasmine went to her side, grabbing a handkerchief and placing it close to Sybelle's mouth to keep the illness from spreading. It took time for the coughing to subside. By the time it did, Lady Sybelle was left lolling in a daze before ultimately passing out.

' _This is bad.'_ The thought sneaked through as she cared for the woman. The Maester was right to be worried. There's too much happening at once. How much would her body be able to take?

She looked over Sybelle's bruised face. Even in sleep it contorted in pain. In that moment, Jasmine realized that she didn't need Sybelle's instructions on what to write over raven. What needed to be said was obvious.

"How is she?"

Jasmine jumped and turned to face the new voice. Standing near the foot of the bed was Margaery, with Alerie cradled in her arms.

"Oh! I didn't hear you come in."

She gave a tired smile. "I finally have her sleeping."

' _A rare thing. Well done.'_ Jasmine nodded her head and turned back to Lady Sybelle. "She's not doing well. Actually, you shouldn't be here. She's sick, and I'm not sure if it's contagious."

'I'll keep my distance then." She agreed, unconsciously holding the infant closer to her breast.

"When you go, can you fetch someone to look out for her? I need to write a letter."

"A letter? To who?"

' _Ah, crap.'_ Her brain wrapped around a valid excuse. "To Anders. She needs her sons here. The maester at Storm's End might be able to relay the message, right?"

"He may." Margaery noted. She gave Jasmine a curious stare. Jasmine tried to smile in thanks and distract herself with a wet cloth to wash Sybelle's forehead.

"Do you know much about my family?" Margaery asked.

Jasmine resisted the urge to flinch and feigned ignorance. "House Wylde? I know a bit about. Why do you ask?"

"You're aware that it's a noble house of the Stormlands."

"I am."

"If you were to send a message to Rain House, they can reach Storm's End within two days by ship. With the tourney still going on, my family and their retinue are likely to still be there. It would be much easier to pass your message through family, don't you think?"

Jasmine gave her a questioning look. One that met with a sneaky smile. ' _Why would she suggest that? That was exactly what- Oh. She knows. But how- wait, she's a Marbrand now, of course she knows.'_

She returned Margaery's smile graciously. "That's a great idea. I'll make sure to send a raven to Rain House tonight."

An understanding was met. With it, Margaery left the room and sent for a handmaiden to take Jasmine's place. Her time now free, Jasmine went up to the rookery and sent out the message. As the raven flew, its words played over in her head.

 _Ser Dareon,_

 _Lady Sybelle has been gravely injured. She won't last long._

 _Seek Anders at the tourney in Storm's End. She needs you. Come home._

 _J. S._


	12. Chapter 12: The Cat's Dead

A/N: Long time no see, folks! A combination of life changes and inspiration for all things Devil's Carnival and American Murder Song has resulted in this story being a bit neglected for the past few months. Well, time to get this story back on track!

* * *

Chapter 12: The Cat's Dead

Ashemark was wound tight in the weeks that followed Lady Sybelle's fall. Her condition directly affected the highborns of the castle in their concern for her well-being. To make things worse, the sickness the Lady had caught had spread about, which rendered two dozen people bedridden. Jasmine and others attending the sick had to work long hours keeping the illness in check, while also ensuring that they themselves would not catch and spread what was going around the castle. Jasmine did her best to keep up with good hygiene (as much as medieval life could allow) and isolate herself from the healthy population in Ashemark. A necessary change to her daily routine, but it waned severely on her connections around the castle.

"-smine? Jasmine? Are you awake?" A hushed whisper snaked into Jasmine's ear as a hand shook her shoulder.

" _Mmmmmm!_ _Sleeping._ " She groaned. Yawning full as an eye cracked half-open. "What is it, Norwin?"

The boy seemed nervous. Maybe. It was hard to tell from the blur of waking.

"You slept through the morning. I brought you something to eat." He lifted his hand forward, a mass of red and green in it.

Jasmine's mouth stretched into a tired smile. "You're a saint, kid. Put 'em on the table, here. I doubt I'm sick, but better not risk it." She sat up and stretched her arms. Feeling it crack at the elbows and shoulders. It was a shame, really, to have to wake up. It wasn't often Jasmine was blessed with deep, dreamless sleep. That said, breakfast called.

She opened her eyes a bit more attentively, noting the light and lack of shadow from the windows. Was it noon, already? Well, brunch it is, then. "Guess I needed the day off. This month has been crazy busy." She turned to Norwin, attention somewhat focused on the food on the bedside table."Thanks, Norwin. ...Are those strawber- _*yawn*-_ ries? Didn't think those were in season."

Norwin looked confused. "There are always strawberries in Summer."

 _Summer!_ "How long was I asleep?"

"Through the morning. I told you that."

"That's not what I... " she sighed. A yawn mixed in with it. "Nevermind. When did the white raven come?"

Norwin thought over to recall. "About one week ago. You hadn't heard?"

"Been a bit busy, kid. Lots of people have been sick." She plucked a strawberry from the pile and took a bite. Her mouth encased in its juicy sweetness. Oh! How she missed this flavour! "What else did I miss?"

"I've been taking care your plants; and, yesterday I bested Little Pate in training!"

His enthusiasm was infectious as Jasmine chuckled at his news. "That's great, Norwin. Congratulations." She munched on the rest of the red fruit, and gently tossed one in his direction by its leafy cap. "Anything else? Apparently, I'm lacking in castle gossip."

"Mmm…" The boy swallowed the strawberry whole. "Lady Marbrand isn't ill anymore. And I heard Lord Marbrand say he plans on proposing marriages for Ser Alyn and Jason."

The first news almost shocked Jasmine with hope, before quickly realizing that Melissa Marbrand was among the ill. Of _course_ it couldn't have been Sybelle. Rather than letting that show, she flowed to the other branch of conversation. "Huh. Who are they hoping to marry to?"

"He and Lord Alesander mentioned a few names, but I don't know them."

"Fair enough. Guess we'll find out, eventually." Jasmine popped another strawberry in her mouth as she grazed over the news. She could think of one or two girls in the castle who will be heartbroken to lose those bachelors.

"Is Darlessa's grandmother going to be alright?"

Jasmine swallowed hard. Chunks of fruit grating on the way down. "I'm not sure. The maester has been watching Lady Sybelle closely. It's… been a slow recovery."

Norwin squirmed as he pondered something. "Could we visit her? Lessa told me that none of the adults would let her in her chambers."

Jasmine released a heavy breath. "She's still sick, Norwin. It may spread to you if you go in to visit her."

"Please, Jasmine? Lessa's really worried." The boy blinked puppy-dog eyes her way. With enough vocal strain to heighten the plea.

' _Dammit, kid.'_

"...Let me see what I can do."

* * *

 ***The Next Day***

"Before you go inside, we need to establish some ground rules." Jasmine ruffled the kids about as they loitered in the light of the morning sun. "Rule One: No physical contact. No hugs, hand holding or any sort of touching, whatsoever. Rules Two: Keep your voice low. Your grandmother needs to avoid anything stressful, and that includes shouting and jumping about like a grasshopper."

"Or being bossy." Norwin muttered under his breath. Jasmine flashed him a glare, and a stern finger bapped him on the nose.

" _Boy,_ don't talk back to me. For that matter, Rule Three: when the handmaidens, myself, or any other adult instructs that it's time for you to leave, you must leave. No questions. Finally, Rule Four: when this is done, both of you are taking baths. If you get sick, your mother will kill me." That rule directed at Darlessa as she nodded dutifully at Jasmine's instructions. "Good. Now that that's taken care of," She smoothed down her dress and relaxed her posture, "it's time to go inside."

* * *

The visit between Lady Sybelle and the children was going well, so far. Darlessa urged herself to keep her distance, and made sure to be as pleasant as possible as she spoke with her grandmother about all of the things she had done in the past month. Norwin, too, behaved himself. Though, from the way he was fidgeting, Jasmine could guess he was here more for his friend than to visit the Marbrand matriarch. Jasmine, herself, kept a generous distance. Standing in the doorway so as to not disturb the visit; speaking only briefly with the handmaidens as they, too, excused themselves to one of the adjacent rooms. She would have joined them, if only for the need to make sure the children keep safe from the illness.

From behind, a clatter of boots echoed in their direction. Jasmine turned a fraction to acknowledge the new arrival, but found herself remotely surprised when recognition hit.

"We're not too late?" Anders asked in a hushed tone. His riding clothes were covered in dirt and dust. His hair tousled with drying sweat.

"Fortunately, not." She offered him a sympathetic smile, but it turned into a frown as she continued. "There is internal damage from the fall. She can still move, with some help; but it is painful." She paused a moment, keeping the young knight from entering straight away. "She caught an illness before the fall. A contagious one. All those who have caught it so far have recovered; but, your mother," She looked to the bedridden woman. Remarking the way her chest shuddered with each breath. "The fall has made it hard to recover. Or the illness is preventing her body to heal her injuries. It's hard to say. Everyday she's on a knife's edge."

Anders hardened his jawline. An unreadable expression glinted in his eyes as he thanked her before entering the room at last. Jasmine diverted her eyes as the scene unfolded, hoping to offer some privacy.

As her head turned, she noticed a man standing two paces away. Green eyes staring into the room with uncertainty. The man's clothing was similar in state to Anders, only patterned in stripes of yellow and turquoise compared to Anders' hues of orange and grey. The man was at an age with Jasmine, with a length of brown hair tied away from a narrow, stubbled face. This man wasn't someone she knew; and, yet, his features were of those she's seen a thousand times and one.

"She's waiting for you, you know." She remarked simply. His eyes turned to hers, as if noticing her presence for the first time.

The was hesitation before he responded. "How could you know that?"

She offered a teasing smile. "Because she asked."

The stranger frowned, puzzled. Then came a glimmer of recognition. "You're J. S?"

Jasmine offered a kind smile and nodded. The conversation closed as a wisp of a voice called from inside the chamber.

"Dareon?"

At once his attention flew passed the doorway, where Lady Sybelle peered from her bed toward where they were standing. Gingerly, the man stepped forward. He entered the room and stood at her bedside. Tears glistened in Sybelle's eyes. Her hand reached out for him. "Dareon? Is it really you?"

He clasped his hand with hers. "It's me, Mother. I'm here."

As the two spoke softly to each other, Jasmine's eyes caught a gesture from Anders. He waved her attention towards the children, who were looking between the Lady and the new arrival with puzzled faces. She nodded in acknowledgement, stepping inside the room to quietly retrieve the children and escort them out.

"You never came home. Even after your father's passing. You should have been here."

There came a pause. A boot scuffed lightly on stone. "I didn't think I would be welcomed back."

"Nonsense, whatever they said, you're always-"

Jasmine lost hearing of the conversation as she walked out the door. The children walked past another figure and continued on. Jasmine looked up at the figure, finding Lord Damon walking towards the room. They each paused in the hall. Long enough for Damon to see Dareon. Long enough for Jasmine to catch a flash of anger in his eyes and intercept before he moved again.

"Damon, no!" She whispered hoarsely, stepping into his way. Damon, in turn, took an arm and pushed her aside. She tripped into the wall, gripping onto her shoulder as it began to sting from the impact. Damon went again towards the door, only to be stopped again, by Anders.

"What's he doing here?" She heard him hiss.

"I brought him home." Anders gave her one quick glance. Enough to convey that she was dismissed from whatever drama was about to unfold. She didn't need to be told twice. "He has every right to be here."

"Not after everything he's done to this family."

"Damon, please, he-" whatever else came of that conversation flew out of hearing as Jasmine half-raced down the corridor.

* * *

"Dareon." Melissa's eyes seemed to pop from her skull. "He brought _Dareon_ here?"

Jasmine shuffled nervously as the ladies of Ashemark gossiped among themselves. Thankfully, they were too surprised by the news to notice Jasmine's discomfort as she busied herself over the Willow Room's drawing table.

"He has." Lia affirmed as she relayed the news. "I met them at the gates. They pressed on to visit Sybelle's sickbed, but I recognized him all the same."

There was a mixture of emotions at the news. Jasmine strained to pin each sound to its owner to no avail.

"-bringing that scoundrel here. Damon must be furious."

"He wouldn't send him away, would he?"

"Of course-"

"I doubt he would go s-."

"-weren't you, Switzer?"

"Pardon?" Jasmine's head perked up at the sound of her name.

Melissa looked to her expectantly "You were there when my daughter went to visit our good-mother. Did you see Dareon, as well?"

"Briefly."

" _And?_ " She gestured her forth. "What happened? What did he say?"

Jasmine internally groaned. Of _course_ the only time Melissa would ever want to talk with her would be to gossip; and, yet, that was probably the most cordial Melissa's been with her in a long while.

"He spoke with Lady Sybelle. My lady was happy to see him. She needs her sons with her, now more than ever."

Melissa gave her a strange look. "You knew he was her son?"

Jasmine shrugged casually. "People talk. I knew there are four Marbrand brothers, and he has the look, so I could guess when I saw him."

Melissa gave a huff of disgust. "There are three. Dareon is no Marbrand."

"Oh." Came a sound more confused than surprised. "I didn't realize that he's a bastard."

"He's not." Came a firm retort from Margaery. The other women also made note against the claim. Which made sense, as Jasmine's little information on the knight said nothing of the sort.

"He may as well be one. Our good-father stripped him of his name. There's no point in thinking of him as otherwise."

Jasmine laid down her charcoal pen and turned fully in their direction. That was new information. "Isn't that a bit harsh of a punishment? He didn't do something _that_ bad, did he?"

The ladies looked to each other to see who would answer.

"Do you know what Dareon had done, Jasmine?" Lia asked her.

Well, if she did, this past year of side-steps and secret ravens wouldn't be so damn confusing. "Something about him getting married, or _not_ getting married, I'm not sure. Not many people are willing to talk about it, so I lack the details."

"That is… half-right." Lia paused. Choosing her words carefully. "Years ago, during my wedding celebration to Anders, Lord Joseth had arranged for him to-"

"GOOD EVENING, RYELLA!" Margaery gave an ear-piercing shout over Lia's explanation. Too loud, in fact, as baby Alerie chose that moment to wake up and start crying. "No, no, no! I'm sorry! Please don't cry!"

In the unexpected commotion, Jasmine only belated noticed Ryella walking towards the group. Ryella chuckled as Margaery flustered over the babe. "You need to be softer with her, Margaery. You can't treat her like one of your hawks." She gently scolded. Ryella stopped, no doubt noticing the way some the ladies braced themselves or looked away from her. "Is something wrong?"

Tension was in the air. Melissa and Lia seemed to pass a wordless conversation in their gazes.

"Oh, just gossiping amongst ourselves." Jasmine offered. Though the tension squeezed her voice into a strain.

"What about, if I may ask?"

"We have a new guest." Lia interjected. "Ser Dareon has returned to Ashemark."

For a moment, long enough to be caught, Ryella's eyes widen and her body went rigid. "I see." She attempted to rid the shock, and offered a smile that did not reach her eyes. "That's… that's good of him to come. His mother will be overjoyed to see him."

"Mmm, just about." The air was stifling.

"Will he be staying long?"

"I imagine not." Melissa dismissed the thought. "That lout is bound to leave once it suits him." There seemed a mix of negative emotions from the group. Pain, dismissiveness, sullen acceptance. Flustered, too, but that was just Margaery busy with the baby.

"So..." Jasmine began, looking to Lia. Lia's unreadable expression transformed under her gaze into a quiet shake of the head. _Another time._ "It's getting late. I'm going to retire for the evening." She punctuated the statement with a forced yawn. The other's acknowledged the retreat. Some taking advantage of it to perform their own as the group kindly dispersed for the night. Whatever was going on was serious business. To Ashemark, at least. Fortunately this was bound to be the best environment to finally get some answers.

* * *

"What do you mean ' _you don't know'_?"

Margaery rolled her eyes. "Exactly as I said. I don't know what happened, as I wasn't in Ashemark at the time."

"Well aren't you a basket-full of helpfulness." From Jasmine's lap, Alerie gurgled as she squirmed about. "See, even Allie agrees with me!"

Margaery pouted, yet there was a trace of a smile on her face. "She's biased against me. Everyone knows that."

They had a good laugh at that. Even the baby seemed to enjoy herself as she squirmed enough to almost push herself off the edge. As Jasmine readjusted Alerie's position, Margaery reclined on the divan across the table. "I know this may be selfish of me, but I'm grateful for what had happened between Ser Dareon and his family." Jasmine paused from fussing over the baby to focus on Margaery. Her eyes were looking upward, but the gaze was distant. "After he left Ashemark, my cousin Markus had recommended Ser Dareon come serve my family at the Rain House. Had it not been for that, then Donnel wouldn't have challenged him when they met at Lord Tyrell's wedding."

"Challenged? Like a duel?"

"Nearly. Though Ser Dareon refused, and offered they settle things through a round at the tilts instead. Markus had jumped at the chance to duel, as if his sword was worth the fight. He was always a hot-headed boy."

"So, what happened then?"

Margaery held a wicked grin. "Oh, I hit him and called him an idiot. The crowd laughed and it shamed him to step down the challenge." Jasmine snickered at that. The image clear in her mind. "After Markus relented, Donnel accepted his cousin's offer ...and asked to wear my favour for the joust."

"Aww, how romantic." She teased. On her lap the baby began to whimper, so she offered her back to her mother. "Let me guess, he won the tilt and your heart, too?"

"No, he lost." She shrugged. "My Donnel is a man of the melee. Jousting, not as much." She sat up and accepted the squirming girl before her whimpers could turn into full on wails of hunger. "Though Ser Dareon is a good man, and a fair jouster, so I didn't hold the loss against him."

"I'm glad you didn't." They paused a moment as Margaery prepped Alerie on the breast. In that time, Jasmine pondered over Margaery's tale. It seemed there was some good to come out of this ...whatever this drama was. That said… "I suppose I'll have to ask someone else about this, aren't I?"

Jasmine had a strong suspicious that Margaery knew more about the issue than she was letting on. Though, even if that's the case, there wasn't much point in pushing it if she wasn't willing to share.

"Only if you wish to know the full story." Margaery replied. Her eyes cast down a moment before returning to Jasmine's. "There's nothing forcing you to, you know."

"I know. It's like the saying goes, _curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back._ " She joked. "But... I feel like, maybe, if I can understand the entire situation, I might find a way to make things easier for everyone; or, at least, for Ryella and Lady Sybelle."

Margaery mused over the admission. "If that's how you feel, then I wish you luck in learning the full truth."

"Thanks, Margaery."

* * *

"It's not my place to say." Lia admitted after defusing most of Jasmine's prods.

 _Ding dong, the cat's dead._

"Come on, Lia. You were going to tell me last night. Why not now?"

"Ryella won't be happy to hear people talk about it. They will do it enough, already, behind her back. I won't add to their gossip further."

Oh. That's a good point.

"Alright, I won't ask you again."

* * *

The trouble with castle rumour-mills is that the way it flows depends on the severity of the rumour. Regular gossip flows through the kitchen, the town taverns, and the gates. The darker stuff emerged in back-alley whispers and the town brothel. That said, there was a general, unspoken rule when it came to treating oneself to a tasty rumour. The further from the castle, the sweeter is the meat.

"So, Ivy," Jasmine peered over the sheet as she helped the washerwoman hang it up to dry, "is it true you and Dareon use to be together?"

The woman's face flushed darkly, nearly blending with the freckles on her face. "I did, but that was a long time ago."

"You still going on about that?" Rose piped up from her own line. "Don't listen to her, Jas. She's been telling that lie for years."

"It's not a lie!" She shot back. "We use to sneak out to the West tower between the guards round and spend the night together. Just the two of us."

"Enough, Ivy. We all know you aren't his _type_."

The emphasis was enough to draw her attention. "And what is his type?" Jasmine queried.

"Someone with a cock, for starters." Another woman joked under her breath.

 _Ding, dong, the cat lives._

Ivy looked about as burnt as the sun at that. "That's not true!"

"We all know it, dear." Nella tried to placate her. "Perhaps he offered you some sweet words to hide himself, but there were plenty of guests who saw him in the hay with that squire."

"Wait," Jasmine reeled over the conversation, "he was caught with a man _at Anders' wedding?_ "

"He was."

Well that… explained some things. It would have felt revelating if it wasn't so _fucking hilarious!_ She sympathized for the man, really. Nobody wants to get caught in the middle of sex. Yet, just imagining the look on Lia or Melissa's face, that must have been priceless! Highborns in this country flounder like fish when the subject of sex comes up. Catching two guys in the act would've made their prudish heads explode!

Though, does that mean… was that what all the hullabaloo was about? Did Lord Joseth cut his son out of the family for being gay? _That's_ the reason everyone tiptoes around the subject? Damn, that poor guy.

Jasmine snapped out of her musings, catching as Ivy was being pulled off of Rose. Rose, in turn, was caressing her jaw as it grew as red as Ivy's face.

"It's not true! It's not!" Ivy screamed out, catching the ears of everyone on the streambed as the shouting between them continued.

"It… could be both?" Jasmine offered, and almost immediately regretted the statement as all nearby heads turned to her. "I mean…" she rubbed her neck nervously, "plenty of people like men _and_ women, right? It's not _that_ unusual."

The statement was met with silence. She could almost _feel_ the sound of crickets chirping.

' _At least not in societies where people aren't beaten and murdered for it. Nice going, kid. You're making an ass out of yourself in front of a homophobic society.'_

"Maybe where you're from." Nella offered in the tense air. Some people seemed to whisper or nod to each other at that. Jasmine wasn't _entirely_ sure what it meant, but hoped it was nothing bad. "That said, with Ser Dareon… if he were that sort of man, he wouldn't have left Ashemark the way he did."

"O… kay. If you say so." That statement felt odd. Were they saying he was a bad person? Margaery must have known; but, clearly, didn't care since she spoke well of him. Though it also insinuated that _he_ left, and was _not_ cut out of the family as Melissa had put it. Where was the truth, then?

Well, Ser Dareon hasn't been kicked out of the castle, yet. Maybe she'll find the answer before it's too late.


	13. Chapter 13: Daisy Chain

A/N Hey folks. I've been sitting on this chapter for ages. Usually I don't post until I've written more of the following chapter, but I'm hitting some writers block for how the next chapter will lead to bigger events during this arc. I tried to end my writer's block with a few personal drabbles, and ended up writing 17k of a silly HP fanfic idea that I may or may not post one day. That said, I figured I might as well send this one out until the block ends. It's both one my shortest and heaviest chapters so far. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 13: Daisy Chain

All this running around and catching rumours was building up an appetite. That, coupled with hope of more answers, led Jasmine to wandering into the kitchens to set up a late lunch. She wove between the cooks and kitchen-help, pocketing bread rolls, fruit, and a slice of soft cheese, then eyed an unused kettle and swiped it for her own use. Well, her and the table of women busy cutting vegetables for tonight's dinner. It'd be rude to use their space without offering them a nice cup of tea, after all.

Once tea was served around the table, Jasmine plopped herself onto the one empty stool and bit into the bread roll.

"So, what have I missed?"

Two of the older women, Jan and Randa, eyed each other knowingly. The third, Lorelai, smirked at Jasmine. "Not very much. All anyone can talk about today is the young Marbrand's return."

"You mean _Former_ Marbrand." Randa teased.

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "I've known that boy since he was at his mother's breast. You don't stop being what you are just because some fancy paper says so."

"Yet Highborns seem to live their whole lives around them." Randa noted.

That got a round of chuckles and comments from the group. Jasmine herself enjoyed the banter as she worked through her lunch.

"So, Switzer," Lorelai looked at her expectantly, "you going to sit there pretty or you going to ask?"

"Ask what?"

Lorelai raised an eyebrow in wry amusement. "Whatever it is you came here to ask. I can spot a she-hound sniffing out a rumour from a mile away."

Jasmine grinned openly. "Alright, you caught me." She dramatically chewed her thoughts over a slice of cheese, letting the silence build. "Well, thing is, I've been hearing a _lot_ of things today; and it all seems to contradict each other. Which is normal for rumours, so I can let that slide.

" _But,"_ She leaned back casually in her chair, "here's the one thing I haven't heard. How this all ties in to Lord Daven and Lady Ryella."

"You mean, aside from the obvious?" Megga asked.

Jasmine shrugged, leaning forward again. "There's nothing obvious on my end. All I know is neither of them want to be around him."

"True. For the youngest brother that is." Lorelai offered a sympathetic pout. She then put down the carrots she was slicing and ducked into a whisper. "But, truth is, the little Lady fancied the older brother. Probably would've been happier having him as a husband instead of the lot she got."

"Oh... _Oh._ Shit." That… had a lot of possible implications. But, again, that all depended on which rumours were true and which weren't. There were enough witnesses to confirm Dareon prefered men. Which begs the question, did Ryella make a confession and got rejected, or did they… Oh, fuck!

"Does Daven know that she-" Jasmine's words were caught off from a heavy set of arms slamming on the table.

"Fer the _last damn time_ , quit yappin' like a bunch of empty-headed highborns and stick to yer duties!" Gendel barked at the lot of them.

"Sorry!" Megga squeaked. The others simply frowned and put their eyes back on their work.

"And _you_ ," Gendel flicked his knife-hand to point at Jasmine, "if you ain't bein' useful then get outta my kitchen! Got it?"

The words barely registered. Jasmine was more caught up in the tone of the orders. That, and the knife jerking a mere inch from her face. Her mind focusing on a single, solid instruction.

 _Don't. Scream._

Holding in the urge to shake, she nodded her head and slipped off of the stool. Stepping carefully from the table. Eyes refusing to break contact from the knife until Gendel turned around and went back to his workstation. Like a release from bonds, losing sight of the knife was enough for Jasmine to turn around and jog out of the kitchen.

' _That was close.'_ One of her thoughts betrayed as she stepped into the open air. Her lungs released a breathe she hadn't realized she was holding.

' _You're exaggerating.'_ Another thought hoped to placate her. ' _Come on, do you_ really _think Gendel would straight up stab you? In the kitchen? That's ridiculous.'_

' _You use to think the same thing about dad.'_

The answer came almost too casually. Like a simple fact of life. Yet the harshness of it made her inner voice recoil at the thought.

' _...Fuck. Kay, I'll give you that.'_

Memories flitted across her eyes, merging between Gendel, her first day in Westeros, and her old world. Her breathing hitched as arms began to jerk and tremble.

' _Ya, no. Let's focus on something else.'_ The inner voice suggested. ' _Deep breaths, and somewhere quiet, just in case.'_

She began breathing the measured breaths, thoughts half-distracted on where her feet were taking her.

' _Somewhere quiet. Right.'_

* * *

Somewhere quiet came in the form of the Godswood. She was almost thankful that the place was seldom visited. No one came here for religious reasons. Even if there had been any Northern visitors, there are no weirwoods here to pray to. Unless you counted the large, white stump that had been cut down who knows how many centuries ago. The Godswood of Ashemark was, at most, a place of leisure strolls. Though, as many pointed out to Jasmine, it paled in comparison to other Godswoods in the Westerlands and the Reach. Other gardens brimmed with hedge mazes, climbing roses, and strong deciduous trees birthed from a nest of rich, brown earth. Ashemark's, on the other hand, was more stone than earth and pockmarked from years of rain and heavy snows. That said, it still had its own tranquil beauty to it. Like a walk through coastal cliffs or a hike through the Canadian Shields. Not a place commonly sought-out, but a refuge for those who need it's gentle beauty.

In Jasmine's case, her need was a simple one. Find a large rock, sit behind it, and wait for the risks of a panic attack to blow over.

What she hadn't accounted for, however, was for said large rock to be occupied.

"Ryella?" Came a note of surprise.

The younger woman jumped in her granite seat. A frown decorated her face before blooming into a sheepish smile. "Good day, Jasmine. A lovely day for a stroll, isn't it?"

A reflexive glance upwards found a clouded sky with sparring patches of blue.

"Quite." Chirped a sarcastic reply. Yet the joke amused enough to muster a small smile. "Actually I was planning on finding a place to hide for the day." She peered over at her friend with a sardonic smile. "Though it seems the best rock's been taken."

"Oh, I didn't mean to…" She trailed at a loss for words.

"That's alright." She understood why Ryella would be here now, of all times. "You're hiding too, right?"

Ryella blushed deeply "No. I- I mean ...yes, I am." she relented at last.

"Great!" Jasmine plopped down beside her with faux cheer. "Then we'll hide here together."

Ryella gave the woman a ponderous look. After some searching, a gracious smile brightened her face. "I'd like that."

* * *

They lounged against that rock well until the hazy sun drifted to the horizon. Busying themselves with flower chains and stylized rocks piles, they sat in calming silence, punctuated at intervals by the hum of bees and birds and the occasional trickle of laughter. When their stomachs rumbled, they went in search of strawberries before returning to their granite sanctuary, red-lipped and giggling.

"You know what would make this perfect?" Ryella pondered as she admired a particularly dark berry. "A batch of candied pecans."

"Oh god, _yes!_ " Jasmine hissed the final word in pleasure as her head lolled onto Ryella's shoulder. "Pecans fresh off the tree-"

"-simmering in a pot of boiled sugar."

"A dash of cinnamon-"

"-and nutmeg."

"Naturally."

"Together with the strawberries on a creamed cake."

Jasmine paused, staring at Ryella, wide-eyed. "You're a _genius!_ "

The girl blushed and giggled over the exclamation. Hiding her face in her hand. "Only you could think that kindly of me."

Jasmine poked the girl's arm. "Hey, it's the truth, you better believe it!"

Ryella didn't agree, exactly, but she did smile at her friend's statement.

They sat together in silence as Ryella finished the last strawberry. Jasmine went back to work on her daisy chain. Unbeknownst to her, Ryella's smile slowly faded. "How long will it be until people stop talking?" Ryella asked.

Jasmine grazed her fingers over the flower stems as she pondered an answer. "Until they have nothing left to say." It was all she could offer the girl.

"They already have nothing to say. It doesn't stop the whispers, though."

That tore a bit. At once Jasmine felt guilt at taking part in the gossip to uncover the truth. She had good intentions, but... perhaps those intentions won't end up _helping_ Ryella if asking behind her back ends up hurting her more in the process. So, instead, Jasmine expelled a guilt-ridden sigh, sat herself up, and wrapped Ryella up in a one-armed hug.

"Hey, it's going to be okay." She whispered in the girl's ear as Ryella leaned into the hug. "It'll all get better soon. You'll see."

"I hope you're right." The girl mumbled. They sat there in silence a while longer. Jasmine's hand stroking the girl's back in comfort, feeling as her body eased with each calming breath.

Distracted in their thoughts, the two women belatedly caught the sound of voices coming from the garden path. A pair of footsteps marched in their direction, as a voice called out from further away.

"Brother, please, we can talk this out like men."

"You're no brother of mine!"

A chill came over Jasmine. That was Daven talking. Which means-

"Father may have taken my name, but we're still family."

" _Family?_ " The disgust rolled off the tongue like sludge through a sewer. "What do you know of family? Family doesn't abandon each other and act like a selfish prat while others suffer."

"I- I didn't think things would be that bad."

"Why, because you can fuck whoever you wish without a care? How _is_ young Markus, by the way?" The latter question ended in a malicious sneer she's never once heard from Daven lips.

' _But, wait, Markus? Isn't that-?'_

The other voice growled lowly. "He's dead."

There was silence, all but a slight huff.

"Was it worth it?"

"Drop it, brother."

"No. I won't." A crunch of steps punctuated the intensity. "I have had to stay here, to suffer here, because of you. If you had done your duty, instead of riding off after some squire-"

"You would have done the same. You're just like me-"

"-No! I'm nothing like you! I never wanted marriage. I never wanted to be with a woman; and I _certainly_ didn't want to be with  her!"

There was ice in her stomach. At once everything fell into place. The hints. The rumors. The marriage that is and never was. ' _That… that son of a bitch.'_ She wasn't even sure who that thought was meant for. But, by the gods, was it deserved.

Two hands clasped her arms in that moment. She turned to the source. Ryella's face was white and her eyes were red, with tears brimming to spill. Her head jerked side to side, eyes pleading.

' _Don't. Please.'_

It was then Jasmine found that her legs had been poised to spring forward. She looked back on Ryella. This girl, this kind and thoughtful girl, whose voice was meek ...yet her eyes are pleading so strongly. Jasmine couldn't… her hands returned the gesture to Ryella's forearms, and surrendered to the stone shelter.

"I could have been at the Citadel by now, like I always planned, while you could have married and still go about your life like you always do. But, no, you _left_ while _I_ had to lose everything to fulfill the arrangement and save our families from shame. All because you 'didn't think things would be bad'. So, I ask you again, was it worth it?"

There was a deathly silence. Without even a wind to rustle against the trees. It suffocated. How can one possibly breathe at this moment?

"No matter how I answer that," Dareon's words came careful and precise, like the dark edge of an obsidian blade, "it won't change anything."

"No." Daven sounded almost surprised, yet disgusted all the same. "It won't."

There was a shuffled of steps. One. Two. Three. Four. "What now?"

"I've said my peace. I have nothing left to say to you." Steps moved farther away now. "Stay here as long as Damon allows you, or until you find another squire to run off with, I don't care which comes first."

Dareon whispered something under his breath. Too quiet for anyone to hear. Once it was said he, too, stepped away from the garden and back towards the castle.

The icy stillness left. At once Jasmine shuddered to breath again. The accusations. The plans. The arrangements. Markus. It all finally fell into place. And Ryella-

 _Ryella!_

-Ryella had curled into herself with her face hidden. Quiet tears no doubt falling on her shaking form. At once Jasmine swept the girl into her arms. The warmth and suddenness of the gesture cracked the girl's weak defenses. Her voice cried in pain and shame, and her fingers dug tightly into Jasmine's skin as it all came pouring out.

' _I'm sorry.'_ The words came mute as she held her tighter. ' _Ryella, I'm so sorry.'_

The others were right all along. This isn't a problem she can fix.

* * *

They left the garden after sunset. Ryella, reasonably so, didn't want anyone to see her in her current state. Maybe she could have recovered in the garden; but, after hearing _that_ particular exchange, those hopes were dashed in a heartbeat. The poor girl was too frightened of the stares and whispers that awaited her to face them head on. So, under the cover of night and cautious steps, the two of them crept up to Jasmine's chambers. Jasmine sure as hell wasn't about to leave her alone. Certainly not back to Ryella's room, left alone with _him_.

"You can stay here tonight." She closed the door harshly and marched over to a wardrobe. Moving clothing around in precise fashion, she pulled out a choice nightgown. "I've got night clothes you can borrow, so don't worry about any chambermaids knowing."

Three heartbeats passed. "Thank you, Jasmine."

"Don't mention it." She tossed the nightgown onto the bed and gestured for Ryella to turn so that she could unlace her dress. While her hands worked, Jasmine couldn't help but think of that argument between the brothers and its implications.

Markus, Margaery's cousin. The hot-headed cousin who jumped to defend the wayward Dareon's honour. The man Dareon ran off with-

-forcing Daven to marry Ryella. To _have to_ marry Ryella. Even though Ryella preferred the older broth-

-no, that's not right. She was _suppose_ to marry the older brother; but was stuck with the younger. Even though he never-

-never wanted to marry a woman.

-because he's 'just like his brother'. The brother who prefers men.

"Those fucking assholes!" she growled under her breath.

"Pardon?" Ryella jumped in alarm.

Jasmine gave a ragged breath and shook her head. "Nothing. Sorry. It's just… this whole thing's a mess."

Beneath her hands, Ryella tensed under the weight of it all. "It is, but… that's how things are."

"It shouldn't be. Forced marriages, dishonesty, prejudice. It just complicates life more than necessary and ends up hurting people." The statement was meant with silence as Jasmine finished the unlacing. "At the very least… even after that business with Dareon, Daven shouldn't have mistreated you the way he has. I mean, it's not like either of you wanted this." She helped Ryella out of the dress, then placed it on the bed to exchange it for the nightgown.

"I did want this." Ryella whispered. Jasmine paused, a sense of confusion as she turned back to Ryella. Ryella, herself, had her eyes to the floor. "I wanted a husband. I was happy to marry Daven, even after…

"I- I _want_ to love him, and for him to love me, back." She lifted her head a fraction. Shy tears glistened in her eyes. "But I suppose I'm being silly to hope, after all of this time, aren't I?"

A coldness returned. Icy tendrils of frost both beautiful and deadly to the touch coursed up Jasmine's back. After all that he said about her, she still held some small hope?

"I don't know the answer to that." The lie felt heavy in her mouth. Morestill as she handed Ryella the nightgown and went to remove her own clothing for the night. A sense of cowardice enveloping her mental state.

 _God, what a fucking mess this is._


End file.
